


The Reunion Of The Pack

by librarysquatter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Game of Thrones Fix-It, Game of Thrones epilogue, Romance, Season 9 Game of Thrones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-24 14:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20359876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarysquatter/pseuds/librarysquatter
Summary: This is my first attempt at fan fiction. I started right after the end of GOT and finished the rough draft three months later. The story is an epilogue to the series, set three years after its end with some flashbacks. It focuses on what happens to Arya after her return from her voyage and how House Stark has adapted to the new Westeros. This is the ending I wanted.





	1. The Smith Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History is often riddled with myths as well as facts. The Smith Lord of Storm's End receives an unexpected visitor from the sea.

Prologue.

From The Pack Survived: A History of House Stark, by Maester William Flint:

...One of the greatest enigmas of the War of Ice and Fire, the great conflagration before and during the fall of the Baratheon/Lannister dynasty and the aborted Targaryen Restoration, was the figure of Arya Stark, a one-time Lady of Winterfell turned nomadic warrior and sea captain.

She was just a child when her father was wrongly executed, a girl wishing to be a warrior like him. To get revenge for him and the rest of her family, she made herself into a warrior through practice and force of will. She was said to roam the countrysides of Westeros slaying those who had wronged her family, but she did not have enough skills to defeat her enemies.

To have her revenge, she crossed the Narrow Sea to Braavos, where she learned the assassin's trade from the death-worshipping Faceless Men. Somehow escaping from their service, she returned to Westeros and her date with destiny at The Battle of The Long Night.

Arya Stark was a woman with many contradictions, a remorseless killer in the form of a young girl, a woman who lived alone for many years but in the end chose family. She was a hero who rejected her own hero worship.

The most obvious example of the latter circumstance was the voyage that took Arya Stark west from Westeros in 305 AC, circling around the Known World westward until arriving back at Westeros three years later. Between that time and when her ship, the Nymeria, arrived in Storm's End, almost nothing is known. Lady Stark did not speak of it publicly, even though she is often believed to be the first person to circumnavigate the entire known world. The only thing that became public knowledge were the new maps created by the maesters of Westeros based on her new discoveries. In this, she was in some ways like her mysterious older brother, Jon Snow, and the tales from the Age of Heroes where facts mixed freely with myth...

...to tell the tales of myth, one perhaps has to rely on storytellers rather than proper historians. Such is the case with the Wandering Wolf, and an account I discovered in 330 AC that recounted the reunion of Arya with all her siblings, more than 30 years after the fact.

The author was Maegan of Volantis, a disgraced priest of the Lord of Light who wandered Westeros, alternately preaching the message of the Lord of Light or telling ancient tales of heroes past for a meal, a place to sleep at night, and the company of the odd stablemaster's daughter. Given that he alternately claimed to personally have seen the reunion or heard of it from the Septon of Winterfell, the reliability of the source and story cannot be certain. However, given the other tales and stories that have swirled around The North in general and House Stark in particular, I have chosen to include the tale here...

1.

(308 AC, Storm's End - Three years after the crowning of Bran the Raven as High King of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros)

Ser Renly Sorrell, the steward of Storm's End, was uneasy as he climbed its main tower. A massive typhoon of a storm had swept the coastline for three straight days and showed no signs of pausing. From the ravens he'd received before the storm, there were signs of the maelstrom from as far north as King's Landing and at least as far south as Greenstone. All of the fishermen had long packed up their boats; the Seven Gods save anyone out on the Narrow Sea tonight.

He had been summoned to the quarters of the Storm Lord, ruler of this castle and the Stormlands, to meet with the lord and to pass along an update regarding the weather. His lord also said he wanted to show him "something he'd been working on."

Renly, a gawky, loose-limbed knight, with the dark hair and particular set of bone structure in his face that suggested some Baratheon heritage from a few generations back, shook his head. The lords and vassals of the Stormlands had realized their new ruler would not be a typical Baratheon, but the request of Gendry Baratheon to build his own smithing workshop underneath his quarters, complete with full hearth and tools, earned him the name The Smith Lord.

At first, vassals and servants alike were not quite sure what to make of the Smith Lord. The people had reconciled themselves to the end of House Baratheon with the death of King Tommen Baratheon during the Song of Ice and Fire. Suddenly, this legitimized bastard, who had worked as a blacksmith and occasional fighter, was now the Lord of Storm's End.

Eventually, Gendry's claim to Storm's End was reluctantly accepted as legitimate. He had not only been legitimized by the Dragon Queen, but the decree had been reaffirmed by her successor, Bran the Broken, who was also known as Bran the Raven. Ser Davos Seaworth, the new Master of Sail for the Six Kingdoms, had spoken to the lords of the Stormlands about his service to the crown, about how he had saved both Ser Davos' life and that of the Hand of the King, Tyrion Lannister. He also told of his service during the Battle of the Long Night, how he had made the weapons needed to defeat the Army of the Dead and how he'd fought against them. Gendry Baratheon had powerful friends in both the Six Kingdoms of Westeros and the Kingdom of the North, and eventually that turned the tide.

While Gendry was not an acclaimed warrior like King Robert, not as practical and cunning like Lord Stannis, and not as charming as Lord Renly, he eventually began to demonstrate his own unique qualities. The smallfolk appreciated his keen sense and sensitivity to their needs, a result of his own background. Gendry did his best to make sure they were provided for and protected. Although the Song of Ice and Fire did little to the Stormlands themselves, many had lost their lives, and relying on the advice of Lords Tyrion and Davos, as well as those of a selected few local lords, he worked to rebuild the kingdom. He would oversee a reform in the training of the smith guild, making the kingdom's smiths the envy of Westeros.

Finally, even Lord Gendry's building of his own smith's shop proved to be a method to gain respect from the people after he demonstrated his skills, including the crafting of a full suit of armor in the Baratheon style that Lord Rogers had rated as fine as the best craftsmanship of King's Landing. It was then that Gendry reminded Lord Rogers that he had, in fact, learned how to smith in King's Landing.

Ser Renly reached the door to Lord Gendry's smithing room and knocked twice. "Come in," a voice said from behind the door.

The steward entered the room to an extraordinary sight. Lord Gendry and Orris Whitehead, the head maester of Storm's End, gathered around a workman's table that had raised sides nailed to the edges of the table and water poured into the resulting container. There were additional sides nailed to the table and extending from one side of the table to the middle, forming a "C" shape. Renly also saw several toy ships tied to the side of the table within the "C" shape.

Gendry looked up, excited. "Ser Renly? You haven't seen this," he said, pointing to the construction on the table.

"My Lord?" Ser Renly said.

Gendry was exasperated, as if Lord Renly should have deduced the model's significance immediately. "Shipbreaker Bay. Right now, there's no safe port near here. Any ships we have we have to harbor in Weeping Town or Tarth. I want to change that."

"Beg your pardon, my lord, but the winds and the waves would prevent that, would they not?" Ser Renly replied as he came to the table.

Gendry waved his hand at him while nodding. "Yes, the way things are now… but look at this," he said, gesturing toward the "C" shape.

Renly took a closer look. "And this is…"

"A harbor. Actually, a man-made harbor, built of rock. Maester Orris, blow that fan over there, show him."

There was a circular fan next to the side of the table opposite the artificial harbor. The maester turned the fan with a crank, and waves began appearing across the water on the table. However, the water was much calmer in the harbor, and the boats were only slowly moving with the wind.

"You see? The breakwaters protect them." Gendry walked over to another table, where several books lay open to pages. "I've learned how this has been done before, in other places," he said. "Some even say the harbor of Braavos was built by man…"

"What would it take to try and build something like this for many ships?" Ser Renly said. "How much material would it take, men and coin?"

Gendry slumped a bit at that. "Yes, that's a problem. I might need to rely on the kindness of friends…" He stopped himself, shook his head, and turned to Ser Renly. "My apologies, you were going to tell me of the weather."

Ser Renly nodded. "The storms look likely to last another couple of days. Not much chance of it subsiding until then. We have made all preparations…"

It was then that a member of the castle guard, a boy perhaps sixteen if that, blundered into the smithing room. "Ser Renly… your grace, er, your lord," he finished, breaking out in a blush that he absolutely failed to hide.

"Edgar, what is it?" Ser Renly said.

"Ser Renly, the lookouts say there is a single sailing ship, headed to the coast just west of the castle," the boy, Edgar said.

"We haven't built this yet," Gendry said, gesturing to the model. "Why would a ship's captain sail into Shipbreaker's Bay on a night like this if he had a choice?"

"He may not have a choice, my Lord," Maester Orris said. "The ravens we received said the storms are even worse to the north from here, around Blackwater Bay especially."

"Did any of the lookouts recognize the ship?" Gendry said.

"No, sir. But she has the sigil of House Stark. The direwolf, it's on the mainsail."

With that, Gendry's eyes widened, fearful and uncertain, as his attention turned away from the table and to Edgar. "A direwolf? Are you sure?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Has it wrecked yet?"

"It looks all but certain to, maybe a kilometer west from the castle."

In a moment, Gendry resolved what his plan was. "Get any of the other maesters and healers together here; you'll see some injured people soon. Ser Renly, get a party and come with me. We'll need plenty of rope and a few wagons to carry people."

"At once, my lord," both men called out and Gendry left the room.

…

Gendry and Ser Renly were in the lead of five wagons headed to the ship. They found her grounded on the shore, a mile from the castle.

Whoever had piloted the ship had chosen the most optimal location for the wreck. The shore was rocky, but it was a gradual slope up the top of the hill 50 feet above the waterline. There was even a narrow gravel path leading to the pebble shore.

Followed by their men, Gendry and Renly approached the ship. Its keel was shattered in half and all but its main mast were missing. There were a pitiful few men starting to clamber down on the ropes cast over the side.

The first of those men was waiting to meet them as they approached the ship. He was somewhere past 40, more than half as broad as he was tall, dark and bushy-haired and bearded, with a single dark-eye, the right, staring out at them. A black patch and cloth covered his left eye. Everything about the way he carried himself indicated someone more comfortable on the deck of a ship than on solid land.

"Sir, are you the captain of this ship?" Gendry asked.

There was a brief shake of the head. "Lord Barron Hornwood. I'm the first mate and quartermaster of this vessel. You are?"

"Gendry Baratheon. I'm the lord of the castle you just passed. This is Ser Renley Sorrell, my steward."

Lord Barron's lone eye widened in surprise. "King Robert's blacksmith son? Allow me to shake your hand. Your weapons protected my family and friends in the North from the dead."

Gendry accepted the handshake. "Hopefully I can be of help again. What's the condition of the ship?"

He waved dismissively at the vessel behind him. "She's done in," he growled. "It's a miracle we made it to shore. If the winds and waves keep up as before, it's likely she'll break apart in a few hours at most."

"Where's your captain?" Ser Renly said.

"On the top deck," Barron said. "She was helping pilot us in when some rigging fell and struck her…"

At the sound of the word "she," Gendry sprinted down the path and toward the ship. Barron stared at Ser Renly, who gestured that he had no idea what had gotten into his lord. They proceeded after him, but he'd already pulled himself up to the deck on a rope, aided by his considerable upper body strength.

Lord Barron and Ser Renly pulled themselves up to the deck to find Gendry kneeling over the still form of Arya Stark. She laid on the deck, soaking wet with seawater, her head propped up on a pile of rags. Arya looked drawn and half-starved, pale with dark circles under her closed eyes.

A trembling Gendry absentmindedly fingered a healed, ridged scar running from the left side of her neck to what appeared to be her collarbone, but was partly covered up by the collar of her jacket. He brushed several waterlogged strands of her hair from her face.

"She does live, my lord," Barron said.

Gendry held his hand just in front of her mouth and could feel her taking deep, heated breaths as she slept. "What about the rest of your crew?" he said.

"We had a couple that got washed off the deck just as we entered the bay. Other than that, all of our remaining crew are accounted for."

To the surprise of all surrounding them, they saw Gendry pick Arya up into his arms as easily as a child cradling a kitten, resting her head on his right shoulder. "As soon as all of your men are on land, have them come to Storm's End on the wagons. There will be food, water, and dry clothes there, bandages and medicine for those who need them. I need to get her there as soon as possible." He started to make his way to the side of the ship as Ser Renley unlimbered a rope ladder over the side.

Lord Barron came to Gendry as he prepared to climb down. "My lord, we have a significant amount of… cargo on board that we need to unload before the ship is lost. There are also maps, books and papers regarding many of the places we visited."

Gendry turned to Ser Renly. "Once you make sure any wounded are put on the wagons, assist Lord Barron with unloading those papers and the cargo. There's not going to be much time before whatever this ship's named is in splinters…"

"The _Nymeria_, Lord Baratheon," Lord Barron said. "Her name is the _Nymeria_."

Gendry looked down at the silent figure in his arms. "Of course it would be," he said. He climbed down the ladder, taking every other step down in his haste and yet keeping Arya secure.

…

"_Cargo_, an interesting way of putting it," Ser Renly said to Lord Gendry as they walked up to the guest room in the tower where Arya was sleeping. "Gold, silver, and bronze coins of all sizes, gold ingots, silks, spices, jewelry of all kinds."

"Precious indeed," Gendry said, laughing.

"Do you think they went pirating?"

"Ahhhhm, I'm not even sure I want to know the answer to that question."

"Anyway, they've started making an accounting of all the cargo."

"What about the papers?"

"Interesting indeed. Many maps of new locations, new countries I've never seen, some fitting in with the maps of the known world. There were several books in different languages - they seemed to be histories or regarding magic."

"We'll have…"

"Maester Orris and the others review them as well. If they don't know what to make of them, we'll send word to Maester Samwell at King's Landing and the maesters at Oldtown to get their thoughts."

"Good."

With no ceremony, Gendry entered the guest room to find Arya in bed, changed into nightclothes and still asleep, attended by Maester Orris and Lord Barron.

"How is she?" Gendry asked.

The maester looked up from where he had been wiping off Arya's forehead with a cool cloth. "Not as dire as I initially thought. She was hit on the top and side of her head here by the rigging, but there is no fracture of the skull, or signs of bleeding inside. Basically, she is in shock and needs to rest. From what Lord Hornwood told me, she was not in the best of condition even before the wreck."

The first mate got up from where he had been sitting by his captain's side. "We'd been on short rations for the last two weeks as we pushed to get to Westeros from Lys," he said. "Then there were the storms battering us for the past three days… I don't think she even slept those last two, three days."

"She'll need her rest for sure, but Lady Stark should make a full recovery," the maester replied.

"Thank you," Gendry said. He went to Lord Barron. "So, what are your orders now?"

The old seaman shrugged. "After we complete our inventory of the cargo, Arya… excuse me, the captain…" he said, then shook his head as if to clear it.

Gendry laid his hand on Barron's shoulder. "It's all right," he said. "It's all right. Take your time."

Lord Barron nodded. "After that's completed, the captain wants shares of the cargo to go to all the crewmen. They will be released from their responsibilities with the expedition and be free to rejoin their families or go where they wish." He sighed. "There are many more men that started this expedition that didn't finish it than what did. The captain wants the families of those men to receive their shares as well. We may need help getting those to the families."

Gendry patted his shoulder. "We'll provide whatever transport you may need when the time comes."

"Many thanks, my lord. As for me, I will stay here with Arya and the papers until she recovers and we see where she will go."

"Of course." Gendry thought for a moment. "Lord Barron, you said that you sailed directly from here from Lys. But, you traveled to the Sunset Sea at the start of your voyage. What happened?"

"We headed west mostly ever since we rounded Sunspear and entered the Summer Sea." He reached down to open up a long leather tube map case at his waist. He opened up a map familiar to Gendry, a map of Westeros, most of Essos and some neighboring lands, and laid it down on the foot of Arya's bed well away from her feet.

"The Known World," he said, tracing his finger west from Sunspear on the map and west into the Summer Sea and then the Sunset Sea. "We kept traveling west, traveling west." His finger fell off the map. "We saw lands that aren't on the map around here," Barron said, waving his hand to the left of the map. "Then, we reappeared here." He pointed to the Saffron Strait and Asshai on the right edge of the map. "And then we kept traveling west until we got here."

"How does that work?" Ser Renly said.

The experienced sea navigator chuckled at that. "That's because this here map doesn't show what the world really looks like. It's more like this…" He rolled the map into a tube shape, with the left and right ends touching each other. "But with more in the middle than it shows."

"More like a sphere, or a globe," Maester Orris said. "The maesters of the Citadel have long theorized that it was so, rather than simply a flat surface." He turned to Lord Barron. "Otherwise, why do ships and lands suddenly rise from below the horizon as you approach them, rather than simply become larger and larger?

"That's true," the sailor said.

"And why do sticks planted vertically in the ground of Oldtown give off no shadow on a certain day and time, but yet sticks planted the same way in King's Landing, do give off shadows on the same date and time? Lady Arya's trip seems to be more evidence to prove the globe theory."

Gendry frowned as he looked at the map. "I never thought of that before. I always just saw a map as a map, to be honest."

"Perfectly understandable, my lord. Think of it like this." The maester flipped the map over and produced a stylus. "Say you asked me to draw a cube on this parchment. If I did this," scratching the shape of a square on the sheet, "you would not be able to tell whether this was a square or cube, unless you added some lines like so." The added lines turned the square into a cube in one-point perspective. "Even so, it is not quite a true representation of the thing, because our drawing uses two dimensions to help us imagine our three-dimensional object. Just like this cube drawing, just like the drawings you make, lord, of the weapons and armor you construct, they are only approximations." He flipped the map over again. "This map is a two-dimensional representation of a three-dimensional sphere."

Gendry nodded as he finally wrapped his mind around the thing. "And not even the whole of the globe." He turned to Lord Barron. "If you added your new maps to this one, how much wider east to west would it stretch?"

Lord Barron stared at the map and its representations of miles on the bottom of it. "I could not be absolutely certain, but maybe half again as wide as this one would be a rough estimate."

Gendry let out a low, hollow whistle at that as he took it in. He stole a look at the still-slumbering Arya. "You did travel far, my lady. You did travel far," he said to her in a whisper.

The lord turned back to the first mate. "I'll make sure to send ravens to King's Landing and Winterfell. King Bran and Queen Sansa should know their sister has returned alive to Westeros."

"Is there any chance I could pass along a third note, to go to White Harbor? My son, Young Barron, may want news of me."

"Lord Barron," Gendry said, his concern evident, "did you need to have your son sent for, or to go to him?"

"No, no, not necessary," the sailor said. "My boy is grown with a family of his own. He owns a pair of trading vessels, does a considerable trade in lumber and pelts to Braavos and the other Free Cities. He'll see me in his own time."

"Your wife?"

Barron shook his head. "She died several years ago."

"My condolences, Lord."

Barron nodded. "I've been here all night - is there any food by chance?"

"Whatever you need. Ser Renly can show you where I'll have you stay, as well as the dining hall."

"Thank you." He reached down and smoothed out his captain's hair for a moment before going with Ser Renly.

"Maester, you can go for now," Gendry said. "I'll stay here for a while."

Maester Orris bowed. "As you wish, Lord. Both I and the servants will continue to check in with her."

After the maester left, Gendry sat down by Arya's bedside and took her hand in his. He sat there silently, simply watching her breathe.


	2. The Wild Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wild Wolf, having returned to Westeros, meets an old friend.

2.

Arya's world was blurred. She could tell that she was in a large bed, with a small window to the sky, but little else. She drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she saw Lord Barron and what appeared to be household servants and maesters. More than once she thought she saw Gendry's face, and facing that meeting filled her with a bit of dread.

Finally, three days after the _Nymeria_ crashed against the shore near Storm's End, her eyes fluttered open as the light from the setting sun streamed through the window. She heard a familiar voice reading something. Arya recognized it as a story from the tales of Nymeria. She noticed someone to her right, and turned towards him. She felt the muscles in her neck tense up as she recognized him.

Gendry sat next to her bed, a book in his lap. "You're up," Gendry said, as he brushed something out of his eye - a tear? Arya couldn't tell. "Do you need some water?"

The surprise of the encounter allowed her to relax. She could almost pretend they were someplace in the Riverlands years before, still journeying to The Wall. "I'll take it, but if you have any ale I wouldn't say no."

Gendry laughed. "I'll see what we can do." He raised the cup to her mouth and she drank.

"I thought you told me before you couldn't read?" She was unable to hide her surprise.

He lifted the book. "This is a fairly new talent of mine. Maester Orris has been giving me lessons for a while. I don't think I'll ever manage the proper language of a lord, but I'm able to read this and the yearly tax reports."

She gave him a warm smile. "I'm impressed. What's it been like to rule the Stormlands?"

"Always something new to learn every day," Gendry replied. "Thankfully, Lord Tyrion and Davos have been free with their advice when they're not busy keeping the other five kingdoms going."

"That's good," Arya said, and he could tell she was sincere.

"I'm looking forward to tales of your voyage. Lord Barron said that you sailed off the edge of the map and came out on the other side."

"It's actually a sphere, so we just came around to the same place," she said, shaking her head.

"Maester Orrin explained it to me. Still, it sounds amazing."

"Lord Barron is known for his flights of fancy. He makes me think of what Ser Sandor might have been like if he'd gone to sea and not been mistreated by his family."

"He did look after you carefully. Anyway, I'd love to hear about it."

Arya reached over and patted him on the arm. "Maybe later. Would you be willing to read to me more? I always loved that tale."

Gendry smiled again. "As my lady commands," he said, opening the book again.

She gave him a light backhanded slap on the arm in response. "Careful. Anyway, I'm not keeping you from the business of statecraft?"

"That can wait until tomorrow."

"What about family? Lady Baratheon?"

He shook his head, a smile on his face. "There's no Lady Baratheon waiting for me."

"That's the truth?"

"It is."

"All right." Surprised, Arya settled back into the bed. "Keep reading; maybe we can get to the bit where Nymeria and her people get to Sothoryos before it's time for bed."

"As you command."

…

They spent the next few days like that, Gendry visiting her room, bringing meals to her himself. He continued to read during the times they were together, when Gendry wasn't either telling her of his work or she recounting some small part of her voyage. Slowly, she began to regain her strength.

…

"I heard you received a raven from your brother this morning," Gendry said as he came in on the sixth day after she'd awoken.

"I did," she said, showing him the note. She was starting to sit up in bed by now. "It said, 'So happy you are safe. Hope to see you soon.' Ugh. Sometimes he seems almost human, and sometimes he seems like he's off with the spirits of the other worlds."

"It's probably tough, trying to keep it all straight in his head. I wouldn't be able to do it."

"Any news from my sister?" Arya asked Gendry.

He held up a raven scroll "We just received something from her today," Gendry said, holding up the message in her hand.

She took the scroll from him. "Dear Sister…" she began, then continued reading the rest silently.

"What does she say?"

She read for another moment, then did a double-take. "'We're grateful that you are safe…' No… is this real?" She shook her head. "Sansa is _married_?"

"Apparently so," Gendry replied.

She turned on him, eyes blazing. "What do you know about this?"

"Not much." He waved his hands in front of him as if to ward off her evil eye, if she was to use it.

"This… Ser Joren Flint. What do you know of him?"

He shrugged. "I know he is of House Flint of the Mountains."

"I know of them. One of the northern families."

"The man served as one of your brother's bannermen during the Battle of The Long Night. Apparently, he fought the dead in the same courtyard as me, but I never met him."

"Anyway."

"Anyway, three years ago, he entered the service of your sister as one of her Queensguard. I guess he became more valuable to her than expected." He shrugged at that. "They married and Ser Joren is known as her Prince Consort and commander of her Queensguard. From what I had heard from Lord Tyrion in King's Landing, it was a minor scandal, but Sansa managed to quell it after a speech to her bannermen. Something about 'The North always looks after The North. This is no different.'"

Arya sank back into her bed, laughing. "That sounds like something she'd say." She shook her head. "I'd thought that she'd lost faith in men, after her experiences with Joffrey and Ramsey."

"You'll have to ask her when you see her next."

"Yes. 'I look forward to you meeting my husband and…'" Arya stopped, her breath in her throat.

"What is it?" Gendry asked.

Arya's voice was unsteady, but she continued. "'...meeting my husband and your nephew.' Seven Hells, she has a _baby_?"

"What's the baby's name?"

Arya covered her mouth for a second, collecting herself, before continuing. "Jon Stark," breathing out the words. "The son has her family name?"

Gendry nodded. "Apparently it can be done if the husband agrees to it. I've heard of it happening in certain cases."

"I once heard a story about how a King Beyond The Wall kidnapped one of my ancestors, a girl Stark and only child of the Lord of Winterfell," Arya said, the story flashing across her eyes. "The lord found her a year later unharmed, but caring for a child fathered by that King Beyond the Wall. Lord Stark gave the baby his last name and named him his heir."

"I guess being a queen has advantages that way."

"It's silly, but that was something I'd worried about," Arya said, settling back into her bed. "Robb and Rickon are dead, Bran can't have children, Jon doesn't have the Stark name, and Sansa and I normally couldn't pass on our name. I thought our family name was going to die out, but I'm glad it's not. Father's name deserves to go on."

"I'm happy for you."

She shook her head. "I've missed so much," she said. Then she turned to Gendry. "Would you help me get to King's Landing and Winterfell, to see them when I can? It's been so long."

Gendry reached over and took her hands in his. "I promise."

She smiled at that. "Thank you."


	3. A Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry confess and make amends to each other.

3.

It was a week after she’d woken, in the middle of a conversation about what little she’d seen of Valyria, when Gendry suddenly said, “Arya, I need to make an apology to you.”

Arya sat up in bed when she heard that. “What do you mean? You’ve been nothing but considerate to me. If anything, I’ve been imposing on _ your _hospitality all this time.”

“No, no, not that. Don’t think that. No, I need to apologize to you for our last conversation, before you left to travel west.”

Arya realized what he was talking about. “Yes?”

Gendry reached down and took her hands into his. “I was wrong proposing to you like I did,” he said. “My feelings were true, but it was wrong how I did it. The idea of becoming a lady, marrying me, must have been overwhelming after everything we’d been through. I didn’t even ask if you had the same feelings for me…”

Arya suddenly moved towards him and silenced his words with a kiss. They stayed there for a moment before Arya finally sat back in bed. “You shouldn’t doubt my affection toward you, then or now. You were my best friend, and back then you were also becoming… something _ more _ to me, something that I couldn’t explain or admit to myself. _ I _should apologize to you for the way I rejected you. I was scared of becoming something I wouldn’t want to be.”

“There’s nothing for me to forgive. I should have made it clear that I never wanted you to be anyone but yourself.”

“_I_ should have realized that was what you really meant,” Arya said. “You were one of the few people in my life who was like that. You remind me of Jon in that way.”

“Gods, you being so tough, that’s what drew me to you.”

“I could tell that, in the forge before the battle.”

Gendry laughed at that. “That’s true.”

“What if I decided to take another trip around the world?” she said, half-mockingly. “Would you forbid me to go?”

“I’d hope you take me with you, if I could go,” Gendry said. “At the least, you would go with more men and ships to make sure you were safe. I’d be all right with you leaving, as long as I knew you were coming back.”

“Really?”

“_Really. _I should have made it clear that if we _ were _to marry, we would be equals. I should have given you more time to think. I’m sorry, I’m not as good with words as you are. I should have said, do you want to be my family?”

A small sob escaped from Arya as she recognized her own words. She freed her hands from Gendry’s and cupped his face with them. She kissed him as he felt her shake.

She broke off the kiss and with a long sigh, she said. “Well, get on with it.”

“With what?”

She pointed to him. “You were making a proposition to me,” she replied. “Obviously, I’ll need to hear more about it before I make up my mind.”

“As my lady commands,” Gendry replied. He earned another backhanded smack on the arm for that, but he went on anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you want me to say? I'm a sucker for love.


	4. Mated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry renew and strengthen their ties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is likely the most explicit chapter in the story, so just watch out for that. Hopefully some of the humor comes across, too.

4.

A couple of days after their conversation about the idea of marriage, Gendry returned to the room where Arya had been staying. He opened the door, but Arya wasn’t in bed.

He walked into the room and heard the door close behind him. He turned to see Arya behind him next to the door, wearing a linen nightgown, similar to what she’d worn before.

“Good morning, Lord Baratheon,” she said with the smallest of smiles. “I had a request of you that I was hoping you would fulfill.”

Gendry was confused. “Of course, what do you need?”

She walked toward him. As Gendry looked on, entranced, she reached down and grabbed the hem of her nightgown, lifting it up and above her head. She wore nothing underneath. Arya encircled her arms around Gendry’s neck and kissed him deeply, her tongue beginning to probe his mouth.

“Seven Hells,” Gendry gasped after she finally broke off the kiss.

She pulled his shirt over his head, then kissed the center of his chest. “I’m going to need you to finish undressing and get into that bed.”

Gendry laid his hand on her cheek. “Arya, you don’t have to do this for me.”

She kissed his hand and then stared at him with a familiar intensity. “You misunderstand me, Lord Baratheon,” she replied. “This is for _me_.”

With that, Gendry began tearing off his boots and trousers in such an awkward rush that she couldn’t contain her laughter at the earnestness of it all. As he finally threw off the covers and lay down, Arya approached him. “I have one other request, my Lord.”

“Yes, my Lady?” he was barely able to gasp.

She straddled his hips as she got onto the bed. “Try to keep up.” With that, she sank herself onto him.  
...

Afterward, they lay together, naked on the bed, embracing each other, as the windward breezes drifted over their bodies through the window. “That was nice.” Arya said as she turned toward him.

Wide-eyed, the Smith Lord tried to collect himself. “I can’t put it into words.”

“So, all this time with me away, and there was no one else?”

Gendry hesitated at first, but remembered Arya questioning him in Winterfell, in the grain cellar, and decided she would have the truth. “No one else who mattered.”

Arya stared at him. “So, there was someone…”

“No one that mattered, and no one for long.” Gendry locked eyes with hers, tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. “I tried, but nothing could take your place. I was prepared to miss you for the rest of my life, like my father missing Lyanna. But you came back.”

“There’s a difference,” Arya said. “Your father never had my aunt’s heart. I have to confess I think you have my heart. You might have had it for a while, likely. I wasn’t sure how to handle it.” She looked away for a moment, sighed, then turned back to him. “Gendry, during the voyage…”

He stopped her confession with a finger to her lips, rubbing his eyes clear of tears with the other hand. “What we both did, that doesn’t matter now.” He gathered her face in his hands; she liked how it felt, how cared for she felt when he did that. “I would do anything for you. You talk about me having your heart, but my heart is chained to you.”

Arya cackled at that, her eyes rolled upward. “Your heart is chained to a small, dark-haired, scarred girl?” she said, teasing. “When a great lord like you could have any willowy, unblemished blond lady of the Six Kingdoms?”

“Yes.” The word was a prayer to Gendry. He deliberately traced Arya’s scar across her left hip with his finger, then did the same with the new scar at her neck. “_Yes_.” With his lips, he traced the neck scar again, leaving Arya shivering and vulnerable.

It took several heartbeats for Arya to catch her breath. This was a different side of her old friend, one the old Gendry would not have been willing to show before. “You would wish to capture my heart for certain?” she said.

“I need it,” he growled, licking and sucking on her neck. “I need it.”

Arya stared at Gendry with new eyes. Any uncertainty in him was gone, replaced with an assurance and a devotion to her that was total.

She broke off contact, but traced the line of Gendry’s nose with her right index finger. “Then I have a hunt for you, my Lord.”

“A hunt, my Lady?” He was looking to get a rise out of her, but none was forthcoming.

She cackled as she crawled out of the bed. After grabbing some item from a satchel by her bed, she started making her way toward the door. “If you want me....”

“Arya? What…”

With a shriek, she threw open the door and sprinted out of the room fully naked. “Catch me if you can, my Lord.” There was another cackle at the end.

“SEVEN HELLS.” Gendry jumped up, tried to put on his pants for a split second, then with a groan rumbled out of the room as naked as she’d been.

Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw Arya’s foot sprinting up a staircase, and to the left, he saw a servant girl dropping her laundry for the day at the sight of her lord. “Pardon, ma’am,” he said, as he ducked into the stairwell as fast as he could manage it.

Arya’s laughter egged him on as he tried to sprint up the stairs, but his legs felt wobbly from his tryst with the northern girl. It was all that he could do to keep a steady gait as he managed to make his way up to the floor on the tower dedicated to the lord’s chambers.

When he exited the staircase and entered the hallway, he saw Arya forcing the lock to his own chambers open and scrambling inside. There was a _shuck_ as Arya bolted the door shut. As he dashed to the doorway, he heard her say from behind the closed door, “Are you able to make your way in? I had no problem.”

As Gendry reached the door, he counted to ten, gathered his strength, and with a running start, he managed to force the door open with his left shoulder.

Arya stood there, naked in front of his bed, taking a long, deep drink from a jug of ale she’d found in the room. As he rammed the door open, she let out a yelp and hopped backward, spluttering and coughing, and inadvertently spilling ale over her.

After she recovered from her coughing fit, she stared, wide-eyed in awe. “I hadn’t expected that,” she said, giggling and trying to catch her breath. “Thought I’d have a laugh at you trying to open the door.”

Gendry eased the door shut, then used a trunk next to the door to keep it from swinging open. “I really wanted to come in,” he gasped between breaths.

“I can see that.” She glanced down at Gendry, and he realized she meant his newly aroused state as well as the door.

He walked over to her as she took one more long drink from the jug. “And there you are,” she said when she finished.

“Here I am,” he grunted as he took the jug from her and had a long drink of his own. “So, you just ran up here to get a drink and play a prank?”

She looked around the lord’s chamber. “Perhaps, but I did want to come here. If you’re going to be my lover and there’s no wife to worry about, you should let me stay in this room, don’t you think?”

“That’s what you think?” Both steel and playfulness were in his voice as he stepped directly in front of her.

“I have to say, Lord Baratheon.” Arya was doing her best imitation of Sansa’s voice in her most diplomatic mode. “I do appreciate the guest accommodations, but this bed looks more comfortable. Bigger and more sturdy, as well. It would be best for our purposes.” The devil was in her grin.

“What do you think?”

“I think… ahhh.”

Gendry cut her off by leaning down and kissing her left breast, where there was an errant trickle of ale. She reeled against him, lost in the feeling, when he stood up. Arya felt his powerful hands take a hold of her buttocks and lifted her so their eyes met. To keep her in place, she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together at his back, feeling his member brush against her backside.

Gendry grinned, his voice husky as he embraced her. “I’m sorry, but that was a trick of my own.” He carried her toward the side of the bed. “It’s time for something other than thinking.”

“Really? Show me.”

“Arya…”

She kissed him again, then yipped in surprise as he suddenly dropped her on top of the bed after pulling away the covers. Before she could say anything, he climbed on top of her and used his thighs to part her legs.

“I love you,” Arya said.

Gendry froze as he loomed over her. “What?”

“It’s been true for a while. I was afraid of it, afraid of being hurt, afraid I could never be happy…”

He took her by the shoulders as he looked down to her. “You don’t have anything to fear from me.”

Something resolved itself in Arya. “OK, then,” she said. “Take it. You won the hunt, remember?”

Gendry laughed out loud at that. “Really? But you were going to let me in…”

“I was, but I didn’t need to, thanks to you. You won; take the prize.”

He shook his head in exasperation, but lowered himself down to her. “You’re mad, but I truly love you.”

“Yes, I kno…” She gasped as she felt Gendry slide inside her, filling her up completely as he lay on top of her. She saw Gendry groan, trembling, as he entered her.

She laid her hands on his back and backside, letting her legs rest on his thighs. He rested one hand on the breast he’d kissed and used the other to caress the side of her face.

“Look at me,” Gendry commanded.

Arya’s grey eyes flew open and met Gendry’s own blue ones. His gaze was desperate, as if Arya was his only chance of salvation. She felt his hips move under her hands and pick up the pace along with his breathing, and started moving her hips to meet his.

She felt a warm, rumbling tension, beginning in her center, then spreading through her solar plexus and throughout her lower body. It was like she was a cup, filling up and about to overflow, anticipating losing control. She heard a voice moaning, “oh, oh, oh,” and then realized with perfect clarity that it was her own.

Arya kept Gendry’s gaze with hers, noticing how his face was getting redder and his thrusts becoming more rapid and deeper. Then, a low, long moan escaped him, and he started moving even faster, almost out of control.

He seemed to have sensed what was going to happen, because Arya was soon overwhelmed by tremors ever-increasing in intensity, spilling all over her and overwhelming her. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep them from trembling, and a series of spasms rocked her center. As she screamed, she felt him spasm inside her passage and a different, spreading warmth that she knew was his seed. It triggered a second rolling orgasm that rocked her entire body. She pressed her face against Gendry’s chest, mumbling something he couldn’t hear.

Still inside her, Gendry held her face in front of hers. “What?”

Arya took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m your family.”

“We’re family?”

She nodded. “We’re family.”

They kissed, and for a long moment, Arya and Gendry melted into each other, neither one wanting to separate. Then, there was a knock on the door that startled both of them.

“Lady Stark?” Lord Barron called from behind the door. “Are you alright? One of the servant girls heard you cry out.”

Mortified, Arya attempted to sit up in the bed to answer him, but she was still trapped under Gendry, who was covering his mouth in a desperate attempt not to burst out in laughter. “I’m fine, my lord, thank you for asking. It’s nothing.”

“Very well, my lady. Have you seen Lord Baratheon? He was wanting to talk with me about these plans for this harbor he’s been making.”

“I’m here, my Lord,” Gendry said, as Arya looked on in horror at the situation. He covered up her mouth to stop her protests. “I’d be happy to discuss your thoughts at dinner this evening.”

There was a long silence behind the door. “Very well..., my lord. I will see you then.”

As Gendry listened to the retreating footsteps, Arya laid a stinging fist to his left shoulder. “Are you mad?” She was indignant. “Why not tell him we’re having sex, as long as you’re at it?”

“I think people will start realizing that after hearing about naked chases through the castle,” Gendry said, now unable to contain his laughter.

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, blame me for letting people know.”

“Some silent assassin you must be.” He was doubled over laughing, still on top of her and pinning her hips to the bed.

Arya punched him in the shoulder again, but she was unable to keep a straight face. “You’ll find out how deadly if you don’t watch it… Gods, did I do that?” she said, gasping.

Gendry looked down. His left shoulder sported a spreading bruise turning a splattered mix of dark blue, purple, and black.

“I think it had more to do with me opening the door,” he said.

“Serves you right for embarrassing me? I’ve got my revenge.”

“Now it’s time for mine.”

His hands flew to her sides and tickled her there. Arya discovered to her mortification that not only was she ticklish there, but in other locations, and there was no escape. Gendry learned that he was nearly as ticklish as her. And, they both discovered that a tickle fight could turn into something very interesting indeed as tremors spread through both of them and their arousal returned.  
…

Later, they rested. As Arya lay in Gendry’s arms, she asked, “So, you never had a chance to marry some other noblewoman while I was gone? I’d have thought the local lords would have wanted you to sort that out so you could have an heir.”

“Oh, yes, there was pressure,” Gendry said. “About two months ago, some of them went so far as to find several possible marriage candidates. However, the night before the selection was to happen, I had a voice inside my head say ‘wait just a while longer, wait just a while longer.”

She sat herself up on her elbow and stared at Gendry. “A voice? Did you recognize it?”

“No, not really. It sounded powerful, deep, supernatural, even.”

“Heh.” She settled her head onto Gendry’s chest. “I’ll have to have a word with my brother. I never knew the Three-Eyed-Raven could play matchmaker.”


	5. Myth and Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets an unexpected admirer and reaches an agreement with Gendry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things that got a little rushed in the TV series was Arya dealing with the fact that she was now one of those legends she had grown up admiring as a girl. Except with the conversation with the Hound on the road to King's Landing, she never addressed that. I think this chapter tries to show this.

5.

A day later, after the evening meal, Arya went down to the courtyard of Storm’s End. Now that her strength had returned, she had been exploring the ins and outs of the castle, which she had never visited before now. Its layout was much more basic than her Winterfell birthplace, but the central drum tower and the startlingly high outer walls were impressive in their own right.

Her presence at the castle was not a secret from those who lived and worked there. Their reactions varied. The men, especially the older men, saw the young woman dressed in leather jacket and trousers, well-armed, and their reactions spanned from idle curiosity to pure aversion, as if her presence was something beyond the natural order. 

When she was a child, Arya would have likely resented their attitudes, but now she ignored them as being the irrelevancies they truly were. The women and children of the castle, however, couldn’t stop stealing glances at her, amazed. The women were friendly, and the children, both boys and girls, often followed her if they were not at work. 

She had heard there was a godswood at Storm’s End, and she found it near the western side of the outer wall, walled off from the rest of the compound. It was perhaps half the size of the one at Winterfell at most, but its trees, mossy ground, and pond reminded her of when she would see her father in the Winterfell godswood as a child. The weirwood tree sat in the center of the godswood, its carved face looking seaward.

She thought she was alone as she approached the weirwood tree, but then a girl came from behind it, carrying some gardening tools. As she saw Arya, she gasped and ducked behind the tree. “Sorry, my lady,” she practically squeaked.

“It’s all right,” Arya said. “You’re not disturbing me.” The girl crept back into sight. She was dressed simply, a linen dress and leather sandals. She had dark hair and eyes, with a pale complexion and not much taller than Arya, who judged her between thirteen and fifteen. “Who are you?”

“I’m Alyssa, ma’am,” she said. “My mother tends the gardens around the castle. She sent me here to pick up some of the tools she left here today.” Alyssa looked at the armed woman in front of her. “You’re Lady Arya of House Stark.”

“Yes,” Arya said quietly, trying to reassure the girl all was all right.

“They call you the Wild Wolf, and Arya of the Dagger.”

“Really?” She smiled, ruefully, at that. “I hadn’t heard that last one.”

“Did you really kill the Night King, the one who led the Army of the Dead against the North?’

She was too surprised to say anything but the truth. “I did.”

Alyssa shook her head. “I can’t imagine being brave enough to do that.”

“I was terrified.” Arya began to approach her. “But they were attacking my home, my family. Just before I struck him, the Night King was about to murder my brother. I was terrified, but I had to set that aside. Does that make sense?”

Alyssa wasn’t able to meet her eyes, but did nod. “Sometimes I think I need to learn how to swing a sword.”

That earned her a raised eyebrow from Arya. “Why, do you want to join the castle guard? Maybe go off to war somewhere?”

The girl shook her head. “I’d be too homesick for that. But, my father died when I was a little girl, and my brother’s not big enough yet to fight. It’s hard without Father…”

“I know. I lost both my parents when I was your age. It’s a sad thing.”

“I wanted to be ready to protect them, in case the wild horsemen returned, the Dragon Queen with her army.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about the Dragon Queen,” Arya said, chuckling. “My brother stabbed her through the heart.”

“Ah, yes… begging your pardon, my Lady?”

“Of course.”

Alyssa finally looked directly at Arya. “My auntie, she’s a healer here. She was one of the ones who cared for your men when you came. She always told me that you should never count someone dead unless someone has seen the body and made sure of it. It’s not unknown.for people to start burying someone and then they sat up in the coffin because they didn’t make sure. Some said _ you _were dead because you’d been gone for so long, and now here you are. Who knows what happened to the Dragon Queen when her dragon took her to who knows where?” Her eyes went back to the floor, afraid she’d said too much.

“That makes sense, honestly.” Arya took a seat on one of the larger roots of the weirwood tree. “What’s your mother’s name?”

“Jennifer, my Lady.”

Arya nodded. “Tell Jennifer that she does good work here. This place reminds me of my childhood home.” She turned to the girl. “I think I will be traveling soon. When I return, I’ll find you and we’ll sort out you learning something of swords.”

The girl managed a clumsy curtsey, despite her arms being full of tools. “Evening, my lady.”

As Alyssa walked toward the exit for the godswood, a taller figured passed her by entering it. “Lord Baratheon,” she said, bowing, before she exited.

Gendry walked toward Arya, chuckling. “Apparently you have some admirers here.”

“More than a few,” she said with a sigh. Gendry stopped and sat on another root opposite of Arya as she continued. “My mother was a believer in the Faith of the Seven. Father even built her a sept at Winterfell so she’d have a place to pray. I never had a close relationship with the septa of our castle,” she laughed, the memories of childhood battles with her returning. “I never did too much praying as a child. 

“After I left Winterfell, the one god I had a relationship with was the God of Death, but I don’t think he’s the type of god you can say everyday prayers to.” She turned to him. “I guess the Old Gods would be the ones for me. They’re the most like home, anyway.”

“What’s troubling you tonight? Us?”

With somewhere between a groan and a sigh, she stood up. “When it’s just you and me, everything makes a mad sort of sense, but… the whole idea of going before a septon, standing before everyone, the whole family cloak rubbish and vows, it’s just depressing.”

Gendry approached her from behind. As she turned around to start pacing again, he stopped her in her tracks with his hands on her shoulders. “All right, I understand.” He was silent for a time. Gendry stared into the sky, hand on his chin. Eventually, Arya put her hands on her hips and tapping her foot in irritation, wishing him to get on with things.

“OK,” Gendry finally said, his hands on her shoulders again. “You remember everything I promised you before, if we got married. Would you agree to that?”

“Your bannermen will think you are crazy,” Arya said, laughing in disbelief. “They won’t consider it proper.”

“I might be the legitimized son of Robert Baratheon, but I’m always going to be the bastard who grew up as a blacksmith in King’s Landing. You might be a lady, but you’re always going to be the woman who prefers adventure and getting your hands dirty rather than wearing dresses, court politics, or living to serve her lord. I’m not a proper lord and you’re not a proper lady. So, let’s be an _ improper _ lord and lady. Let’s be ourselves.”

Arya was silent for a moment. “That’s quite a lot for you to say.”

“True,” Gendry said, exasperated with her getting off track. “Do you agree to it all?”

Arya nodded. “I do.”

Gendry sighed with relief and hugged her. “Brilliant. So now… wait, wait, I’m rushing again, like before, sorry,” he said, breaking the embrace but laying a hand on her cheek. “Is there anything _ you _would like to add to the agreement, something I haven’t thought of?”

“Let me think for a moment.” She turned and walked away from him. Arya gazed at the high walls, then at the weirwood tree. “I wish to keep my name. My father and mother named me Arya Stark. I would wish to honor them, and remember them.”

Gendry nodded as he approached her again. He stood in front of her, reaching around her shoulders with his arms. “All right. But… what if there are… children?”

Arya looked at him in disbelief. “‘What if there are children?’” she repeated, shaking her head and laughing out loud. “They just don’t magically appear.”

Gendry was confused. “But…”

“_You _ give _ me _ children through your seed, remember? And I would have to _ birth _those children. It seems like you are quite familiar with the procedure.”

He turned bright red at that. “I _ know _ how it works…”

She wrapped her arms around his waist as she wrapped her bravado around herself as a shield for what was next. “If you, somehow, _ do _ give me children, I suppose I will give birth to them, if you wish. And they’ll have your name.”

“They will?” he grunted as she took hold.

She grinned at his reaction. “My sister has apparently preserved our family name. It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t try and help you do the same.”

Gendry leaned down, his face now near hers. “All right. Is there anything else?”

“Nothing that’s not negotiable.”

“Do you accept all of those terms?”

Arya was a bit uncertain as to what was now happening, but decided to trust him. “I do.”

“I accept them too. Are you my family?”

She drew in a ragged breath. “I am. And, are you my family?”

“I truly am.” He bent down further to kiss her, a long, solemn embrace. “There,” he said, after they finished. “You’re my wife.”

Arya was in total disbelief. “Husband?”

Gendry looked over Arya’s shoulder and saw two more figures entering the godswood. Extracting himself from her arms, he laid a fingertip on the end of her nose. “You’re going to get a laugh out of this,” he said.

Gendry now made his way to the two men. One of these was Ser Renly, and the other was a broad-shouldered and broad-bellied man in the robes of The Seven. Septon Marcus had taken over as the head septon of Storm’s End shortly before King Robert’s death. “Septon, I have news for you,” he said.

“Yes, my lord?” Marcus replied.

He turned back toward Arya. “Come, my love.” 

Hesitating at first, Arya then came to Gendry’s side. He took Arya’s right hand in his own left. Arya silently approved of him making sure her sword arm was unencumbered. 

“Septon, I wanted to let you know that Lady Arya Stark and myself are now married.”

The shock was evident on the septon’s face and how he almost took a step back at the news, but he recovered and made sure to kneel before his lord. “Congratulations, my Lord. May your marriage be prosperous.” Arya noted, as the septon rose to his feet, that Ser Renly appeared to be less surprised at the news. “Shall we make an announcement?”

Gendry waved him off. “Not necessary at this time. However, if you could, make a note of the marriage in your records at the sept. That would be greatly appreciated.”

Confusion still ran wild with the septon, but he was too reserved to create a scene. “I’ll take care of that this evening.” He kneeled before Gendry again. “My Lord, Lady.”

Gendry dismissed him with a nod as Ser Renly approached him. “And you needed my services as well?”

“Correct. Send out messages to our bannermen. We will be hosting a feast here at Storm’s End in a fortnight. All are invited to attend, but they should not feel obligated to do so if they cannot on such short notice.”

Ser Renly paused. “Just that, my Lord?”

“That will do for now.”

“We appreciate all of your help during this time,” Arya added.

After a beat, Ser Renly bowed to both of them. “Lord Baratheon, Lady Stark,” he said, then took his leave.

Arya turned to Gendry again. “My husband?”

“No one cares how the smallfolk wed, and the merchants and minor lords of Westeros have to go through the septon,” Gendry said, “but being a lord means I can say when I’m married or not. If you approve, that is. Or, we could have a fancy ceremony that would require us to dress up…”

She laid her finger across her lips and shook her head. She moved her finger away so she could stand on her tiptoes to kiss him. “My _ husband_,” she said. “My improper lord.”

“My wife and improper lady,” he laughed. “Did you want to go back to our chambers?”

“Come over here, sit with me by the pond for a while,” Arya said. “There’s no snow here, of course, but it does remind me of Winterfell.”

“Of course.” He let her lead the way.


	6. A Feast of Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Gendry make an impression on the lords of the Stormlands during a celebratory feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This is a story with Arya in it but no asskicking," you might be thinking at this point. Reader, here you go.

6.

It was the evening of the gathering in the feast hall of Storm’s End. Although the invitations to the festivities had gone out on short notice and with no particular indication of the purpose of the feast, sheer curiosity and a willingness for their lord’s good food and drink attracted at least half of the lords of the Stormlands and their bannermen. 

“We’re all here at the beck and call of the Smith Lord, he could have at least gotten some more game for the tables,” Lord Rodgers said to Lord Dondarrion as they ate. “The food is well enough, but his father was the true hunter. Even his uncles knew how to hunt when the occasion called for it.”

“If he could craft a wild boar to eat with his hammer he might manage it,” Lord Dondarrion said. “Oh well, at least he has good taste in ale and wine. I’m sorry not to see all the women and whores who used to frequent these gatherings.”

“King Robert used to take all of them for himself, anyway,” Lord Rogers said. “This one seems to be a septon or a Sparrow, perhaps. Anyway, he needs to wed my daughter and put me on his council. You would back me, of course?”

“As long as I got a position in turn,” Lord Dondarrion said, raising his glass in a toast. 

“Do you have any idea what this is all about?” Lord Fell growled at Ser Renly as they sat opposite of each other. “Where’s he at, anyway?”

“He was detained by official business, but I expect him to be here shortly. By all means, feast - he wishes you to enjoy yourselves.”

“To be honest, I keep waiting for the bastard to actually start ruling rather than just act like he’s a lord to try and convince himself and everyone else,” Lord Fell said. 

“That seems a touch unfair, my lord,” said Lord Grandison, one of the younger Stormlands lords, who sat right next to Lord Fell. “The small folk have been happy with the state of affairs, and the kingdom is financially sound, which is more than could be said under Lord Baratheon’s father.”

“He needs to marry someone soon, or I’m going to start wondering if he’s inherited some of the tendencies of his uncle, and I’m referring to the younger one.” Lord Fell shook his head in disgust as he downed another mug of ale. “Half the highborn women in this kingdom are ready to throw themselves at him, my daughter included. He’s not unattractive, I’ll give him that. Anyway, it needs to get resolved.”

Ser Renly glanced over the shoulders of the two lords. “I believe things will be resolved sooner than you expected.”

Lord Grandison and Fell turned to see what Ser Renly was looking at. Pretty soon, the entire hall was doing the same. 

Gendry Baratheon and Arya Stark entered the hall, her right hand holding his left. Both of them were clad in black leather armored coats and tunics, pants, and knee-high boots. A stag standing on his hind legs was splashed across the front of Gendry’s coat, while Arya’s spotted the head of a direwolf above her heart. 

Neither were adorned with fancy jewelry or cloth, but both were armed for a battle. Gendry had a two-handed war hammer strapped to his back, a flat square on one end, a pyramid-shaped spike on the others, and the stag sigil on its side. On his left hip, he wore a three-foot long light sword, with a simple square pommel and rectangular cross piece of his own design, made up of the highest quality steel from his own forge. 

As for Arya, in addition to Needle and the Valyrian Catspaw dagger at her waist, she wielded a staff as tall as herself in her left hand. It was identical to a weapon Gendry had made for her years ago at Winterfell, but this version had blades on the end made of Gendry’s steel rather than dragonglass. 

“Lords, bannermen, and ladies. Thank you for coming,” Gendry said. “My apologies; I had some quick business to attend to.” He let go of Arya’s hand and pointed to her as she planted her staff on the ground. “Lady Arya Stark has been a guest of mine at Storm’s End. Some of you might know of her, but others may not.”

Many of the lords and bannermen regarded the couple with wariness. Despite the royal decrees and the support of the King of Westeros, there were still some who wondered if the Smith Lord was a true Baratheon. But to see this dark-haired, tall and powerful man, who spoke with total confidence and carrying his battle hammer, was to see the ghost of Robert Baratheon who had crushed the Targaryen army as thoroughly as he crushed the chest of the Prince of Dragonstone. 

As for the young woman beside him, those same lords and bannermen were at a loss for thought. She was maybe half Gendry’s height, but her grey eyes were filled with menace as she surveyed the room. For the first time in the lives of some of those men, they were face to face with a woman that had no interest in their attention and favor but total interest in their respect and fear. 

“Her exploits should be known to you,” Gendry said. “When her father, mother, and brothers were slaughtered by the Lannister’s and their allies, she took up arms alongside her family and helped avenge their deaths. When the Army of the Dead and their Night King attacked Winterfell as the start of their conquest of Westeros, she fought against them and _ killed _ the Night King. By doing that, she very well may have saved all of your lives. And finally, she led an expedition into the Sunset Sea and became the first sea captain to successfully travel around the world. She is an incredible woman.”

Gendry turned to face her and was charmed to see her hardened facade show the slightest hint of embarrassment with her downturned eyes. “I first met her after the death of her father, and we were traveling companions and friends. Later, we reunited as we both fought against the Army of the Dead at Winterfell. Now she has returned, and I could not be happier. Especially since she has agreed to marry me, and we are now married.”

Murmurs and whispers ran through the feasting hall, as uncertainty and wariness were apparent among a good number of the lords. “My lords, I’m surprised,” Gendry continued, chuckling. “Have you _ not _ been petitioning me to find a wife for some time? And now I have one, from one of the oldest and most noble houses of Westeros. Surely she is an acceptable Lady of the Stormlands.”

“My lord, you have to admit that this comes as something of a shock, happening as if by magic,” Lord Rogers said as he got up from his seat. “Just a short time ago, I and my fellow lords were proposing several possible candidates for you to marry, and you rejected them all. Now, you suddenly select this… woman, to marry. It’s all highly irregular.”

“My lord, I know you are disappointed that your precious daughter will not marry me, and thus deprive you of some honor at this court. I assure you, you will have plenty of opportunities to serve me, but service and ambition are two different things.”

Lord Rogers gestured toward Arya disdainfully. “But what does she have to offer…”

“Lady Arya is my best friend in the world,” Gendry said, locking eyes with his wife. “Very rarely does a man get to marry his best friend. I was very lucky. I would hope that your daughter would be as lucky as myself.” 

Arya silently thanked the old gods for the choice she made.

“Whether it’s my daughter, his daughter, whomever,” Lord Fell now said as he rose, “all of this is irregular. I never even heard of any ceremony; this is the first I’ve heard of this so-called marriage. How do we even know this is legitimate?”

Lord Fell was taken aback by the belly laughs that emanated from Lord Baratheon. “Really?” he said when he was able to catch his breath. “Do you wish to investigate her virginity, like the old days? Wait, wait… my wife is an experienced warrior, and has a number of interesting scars. Maybe I should relate them to your maesters, and they could confirm them, eh?” Shaking his head and doubled over, he continued to laugh.

Arya came to stand directly to Gendry’s left, facing Lord Fell in amused disbelief. “Or, perhaps I could describe Lord Baratheon’s cock to your maesters and _ they _ could confirm my truthfulness? My guess is that his cock and balls will be much bigger than yours, my lord.”

A mixture of murmurs and outright howls of laughter rolled throughout the room at Arya’s comment, and Lord Fell stewed in silent rage. Gendry waited for both of them to die down before continuing. “However, I believe I will do none of those. _ I _ say that Lady Arya is my wife; that is enough.”

“Lord Baratheon is my husband; _ that _ is enough for all of you,” Arya said, her eyes burning as she surveyed the crowd.

“It’s all still quite irregular, that is what needs to be said,” Lord Dondarrion said as he stood.

Gendry gazed at all the lords before continuing. “Well, perhaps I should apologize for any more feelings I hurt in this room with what else I have to say,” He let the rumble of conversation die down before continuing. “As my wife, Lady Arya will be the co-ruler of the Stormlands alongside me. We will rule as equals. What she decrees, it will be as if I have decreed it. And my word is final in this matter.

“Also, it would be a shame to allow one of the greatest warriors of the known world, never mind Westeros, to sit idle,” he said over the rumble of conversation in the hall. “This is why I have appointed my wife Master of War for the Stormlands, and responsible for the training and leading of our bannermen. I would trust no one else with this task.”

Half of the hall jumped up in violent protest and the other half sagged in their seats in disbelief. “This is outrageous!” howled Lord Rogers. “There are war leaders among us who are far more qualified to lead soldiers than some _ GIRL! _ This WILL NOT STAND!”

Laughing and shrugging his shoulders, Gendry walked behind the table of honor. “You think that you are a better candidate for Master of War, Lord Rogers? Do some of you feel the same?” He waved his arms at the crowd. “There is an old way to resolve this.” He pointed to Arya. “Do you or others think that you could be a better warrior than my wife? Then, arm yourselves, approach her, and _ prove yourselves_.” With that, Gendry drew his hammer from its sheath, leaned on it as if it was a staff, and gestured for the dissenting lords to make their move. 

Lord Rogers drew his sword and sprinted in a straight line towards Arya, swift despite his bulk. She did nothing until he was within two strides of her, swinging his sword in a two-handed down-swinging blow, but then her staff flew to life. With one blow she blocked his strike, and then swung the other end of the staff to parry his blade to the side. Then she crouched and spun around to strike a cutting blow against the back of Lord Roger’s legs, leaving a torn pant leg as proof that she could have easily hamstrung him, then toppled him to his knees with a swift kick to the backside.

Lord Fell now ran behind her, his sword raised directly above his head in a two-handed grip. Arya spun around and easily blocked the blow high above her head, as well as a second swing from the right. Before he could rally for a third strike, he looked on, astonished, as she separated the staff in half, leaving her essentially with two short stabbing spears. With a speed that made it seem like Lord Fell was treading water, she opened up very shallow cuts on both of his upper arms and gut with the slicing spears, cuts that could just as easily been three times as deep.

As Lord Fell staggered backward and surveyed his damage, Arya spun around, stepped to her now-left, and with a swing of her left-handed spear she deflected a crossbow bolt speeding near her torso. Immediately, she saw Lord Dondarrion behind a table with the empty crossbow, a man without a backup plan. 

He tried to scoot off the top of the table and reach for his sword, but Arya was too swift. She jumped and slid across the table, scattering food and silverware alike, and striking Lord Dondarrion with a two-footed blow to the chest. He crashed against the nearby wall, but Arya seized him by the shoulders and flung him back onto the feasting table. She trapped him there by the neck with her spears; they made an X-shape, the blades leaving shallow grooves in his neck. 

She stood up on the table and leaped over a clumsy sweeping strike from Lord Fell, who unsuccessfully tried to take her legs out from under her. In a single motion, she drew Needle, landed on the ground, and made another kneeling slash that opened up cuts on the backs of his thighs. As he crumpled to the ground, Arya stood up and pricked Lord Fell between his neck and shoulder. She could have easily buried Needle up to the hilt and pierced his heart from that angle if she wished.

She turned to find Lord Rogers looming over her. He knocked Needle from her grasp with a right forearm, grabbed her by the shoulders, then ran and slammed her against one of the tables. Before he could either reach for her throat or use his hold on her to bash her head against the table, she reached up and jabbed at his eyes with her left hand and used her right to draw Catspaw and make the shallowest of cuts on the right side of his neck. As his hands flew to his face, Arya flipped her dagger to her left hand, slid down to the floor, and made just enough of a stab to his groin area, an inch from his manhood, to draw blood.

As Arya got up to collect Needle, the now-silent hall heard Lord Fell stagger to his feet and glare at Gendry. “Gods, this is witchery!” he croaked. “I suppose you’ll have her fight all of your battles…”

He was silenced by the sight of Gendry’s hammer whistling through the air, pointed end first. Gendry slammed it into the middle of the main feasting table, splitting it perfectly in two with a deafening _ CRACK_, sending dishes and food sliding down to the floor.

“I think the servants probably need to fetch a new table. And some more food,” Gendry said as he stepped over the table in a single stride. He strode over to Lord Fell, now back on his knees and unarmed.

Gendry stood over him, hammer in his hands. “I never grew up as a soldier, but I _ am _ a fighter. I am not looking to start fights, but I will finish those that come to me. Ours is _ still _ the fury, my lord, do not ever doubt that.” He raised his hammer above Lord Fell’s head, but then simply touched its flat face to the nobleman’s forehead. As Lord Fell sat down, Gendry replaced his hammer in its sheath as a crowd of servants scattered to clear the wreckage and get an unbroken table and more food and drink. 

He noticed Arya walking to his side, grinning at him and staring at him in wonderment and more than a little lust, and he reciprocated. As she stood by Gendry’s side, she now looked out at the silent gathering.

“We seek to rule here peacefully,” Arya said in a voice low in tone but strong enough to carry throughout the hall. It was calm but deadly serious. “However, I think that if you consider contesting our rule, that if you think you or your friends and family might even take over in the Stormlands, you need to consider your situation.” She pointed to herself with her dagger. “I am the sister of the King of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros. He has proclaimed my husband to be heir to Robert Baratheon, and my husband is now his brother in law. My sister is the Queen of the North, and Lord Baratheon is now _ her _ brother in law. My uncle rules the Riverlands, and my cousin is Lord of the Vale. And if that is not enough to consider, I think it might be best that you not do anything that would anger _ The White Wolf._ Or my husband.”

In the silence that followed the mention of the exiled Queenslayer, Lord Grandison stood up. “Lord and Lady Baratheon, I…”

“My apologies, Lord Grandison, but despite my marriage, I am still Lady Stark,” Arya interrupted softly.

“Of course, Lady Stark,” Lord Grandison said. “I think I can speak for most of the lords of the Stormlands that we are happy that Lord Baratheon has chosen a capable woman to be his wife, and that the future of your house and the Stormlands is secure.”

“Have you considered my offer?” Gendry said.

Lord Grandison nodded. “Yes, I have, and it would be my honor to join your council as your treasurer.”

“Thank you.” He pointed to Lord Barron. “Lord Barron Hornwood has agreed to continue to serve Lady Arya and myself as the master of our sail. We will be looking to considerably expand both our naval and merchant fleets.”

Lord Barron raised a mug of ale. “Would it be appropriate now to offer a toast to the new bride and groom, Lord Baratheon?”

Gendry smiled as he put his left arm around his wife. “I don’t see why not.”

Those without glasses or mug got them in their hands. Servants brought out a huge mug of ale for Gendry, and were about to bring out a small one for Arya before she prompted them to get her one the same size as her husband’s.

“To Lord Baratheon and Lady Stark,” Lord Barron said. “May their union be happy and prosperous, and bring happiness and prosperity to the Stormlands as well.” 

“To Lord Baratheon and Lady Stark,” the gathering roared. Gendry and, to the surprise of all present, Arya consumed their entire mugs in a single chug.

“I also think another toast is in order, is it not, Lady Arya?” Ser Renly said as he motioned for the servers to fill glasses and mugs again.

“Yes, Ser Renly.” Arya turned to the group again. “Lord Baratheon and I will be traveling soon to King’s Landing and then, Winterfell. I wish to reunite with the brother and sister I have not seen for three years, and we will work to renew our relations with both kingdoms and discuss agreements that will benefit the future of the Stormlands.”

Lord Grandison raised his glass. “Safe travels to our lord and lady, then.”

“Safe travels,” the crowd called out. 

Gendry was frankly amazed that Arya had downed a second mug with that toast. “Thirsty tonight, are we?”

“I usually am,” she replied. She moved towards him, then hesitated for a moment. Finally, she came to him and kissed Gendry, as the crowd cheered on a man and woman that looked more bandit king and queen than proper lord and lady.

_ Strange how kissing Gendry in front of people for the first time made me more nervous than nearly killing three men _ , Arya thought as she settled into Gendry’s embrace. _ People can be such strange things. _


	7. The Forest King and Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya reflects on her past on the road to King's Landing.

7.

Arya awoke as the eastern sun peered through the trees.

For a moment as she came out of her sleep, she imagined that she was a child again in the forests of Winterfell, exhausted after a day or evening of play. It was as it was before, her hair messy and sporting an odd leaf or two, dirt under her fingernails and toenails, mud smears on her hands, knees and hardened feet, the odd scab or two that she never remembered getting.

However, as she continued to gain consciousness, she realized something was different. She saw her clothes and the clothes of another gathered at a pile next to her. There was only a heavy blanket sheltering her from the sky and she lay on a bed of forest moss next to a giant pine. A man - _ Gendry _ \- equally unclothed was nestled at her back and backside, his arm wrapped around her as he continued to slumber. Two horses were hobbled in a clearing nearby.

Her memory returned to her, bit by bit. They were in the Kingswood just south of King’s Landing, traveling to meet her brother. She’d suggested that they make the short trip alone, not worried about any dangers that might be along the way. If they were around, they avoided the newlyweds. 

They had settled into a pine cove for the evening, off of the Kingsroad. As something of a joke, she’d fashioned crowns out of nearby ferns. “You’re the King of the Forest, and I am your Queen,” she intoned as she placed them on their heads. They kissed then, kissed for a long time, and the scent of pine mixed with their scents, stirring something in first her and him, and she started touching him, undressing them… she had sunk to her hands and knees…

The memory made her blush and shake her head to gather herself. She was becoming more and more forward with Gendry, but she thought that if she couldn’t be that way with her husband, what was the point of marriage? He had gone along with her eagerly enough.

As she saw the crowns from last night lying on the ground near their heads, her thoughts unexpectedly turned toward her mother. She was ashamed that she did not think about her as much as her father - _ so many people gone, _ she thought, _ so many people to mourn. _

_ Where would she be now if she’d lived? At Winterfell with Sansa? Sansa can take care of herself, but she surely would have visited her first grandchild, stayed with her for a while. She’d likely be with Bran in King’s Landing, trying to watch over him still... _

_ What would _she_ think of me? In the strictest sense, I did what she wanted me to do - married a highborn lord and become his lady. But I don’t think she pictured me being a warrior and explorer, both my husband’s wife and commanding general at the same time. She wouldn’t have understood that… but would she be happy I was in love? Would I be a disappointment? _

The answer struck her between the eyes like a diamond-tipped arrow. _ It wouldn’t have mattered. No matter what, she would have loved me. She never stopped loving me, no matter how wild I was. Mother died trying to make sure I was safe. _

The tears coursed down her cheeks. Arya felt Gendry stir behind her. She hugged his arm close to her heart as she grieved for her mother and what had been lost.


	8. Return to King's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya is reunited with King Bran the Raven, and she and Gendry meet with the Small Council.

8.

The gold cloaks of King’s Landing were surprised to find the lord of the Stormlands at the River Gate, unaccompanied by anyone except a woman claiming to be the king’s brother and their horses. After they passed along a letter from Lady Arya to the Red Keep, Ser Podrick Payne and two other members of the Kingsguard hurried to the gate on horseback and confirmed their identity. 

“Apologies, Lady Stark, Lord Baratheon, we didn’t know when you were going to arrive,” Ser Podrick said. 

“It’s all right,” Arya said, “we didn’t really travel with a large group.”

The Kingsguard knight nodded in relief. “The King and some of the Small Council will be there to welcome you. Come with me.”

The group rode through Fishmongers’ Square as they entered the city. Gendry gazed down to the left, down The Street of Steel. “Wonder if my old shop is still standing, or Mott’s old place,” he said. 

“It would be one of the lucky ones if it were,” Arya said, warily surveying the city. Only half of the buildings on that street were standing. The outer walls and gates of the city appeared to be rebuilt and the streets cleared of rubble, but many homes and buildings remained in ruins or totally leveled from the Targaryen sack or, more likely, dragonfire. The Great Sept of Balor remained in ruins at the top of Visenya’s Hill. In her mind, she could still see the charred and smoking bodies of soldiers and small folk alike littering the streets…

Gendry laid his hand on top of hers on the horn of her saddle. “Everything all right?”

She nodded solemnly. “Just some bad memories.”

Gendry nodded. He’d seen the aftermath. _ It’s also where her father was killed, _he thought. 

They continued along the Hook up Aegon’s Hill. The Red Keep loomed over it all. Some of its towers were still rubble, and wooden scaffolding covered at least half of the keep. 

“It’s a bit of a work in progress,” Ser Podrick said, “but it’s coming along.”

“Not a small job,” Gendry said. 

…

Podrick escorted Arya and Gendry into the Small Council’s meeting room. Lord Tyrion Lannister, Ser Davos Seaworth, Lord Bronn of the Blackwater, and Ser Brienne of Tarth were around the table. Seated at the head of the table was King Bran the Raven. 

As Arya and Gendry approached, Ser Brienne wheeled the king from behind the table and to the side. “Your Grace,” they both said as they kneeled before him. 

“I wasn’t really sure how you would take to the sea,” Bran said. “I knew you had traveled The Narrow Sea before, but… you have learned much.”

“I had a good crew,” she said sadly, “and some help from my little brother.” Arya rose, then leaned down and hugged the king. “Thank you for everything.”

“No need to thank me,” Bran said, serene as always. “I’ll be there when you need me, always.”

To Gendry’s surprise, Bran reached up and shook his hand. “Welcome to our family, _Brother_. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Gendry barely stammered. 

“I once had three brothers, then just one, and now suddenly I have three again,” Bran said. “A strange thing.” He turned back to his sister. “I’d like some company for a time. Would you join me outside, on the balcony?”

“Of course.”

Bran nodded to his Hand. “Lord Tyrion and the council wished to speak to you about your proposal, and some of our own. We’ll have dinner in a while together.” 

Brienne wheeled Bran from the room as Arya followed behind. “See you soon,” she said to Gendry as they left. 

Gendry turned around into the embrace of Ser Davos. “Congratulations, my lord,” he said.

“Thank you,” Gendry said, grinning. Ser Davos was the closest thing to a father he truly had. “How has your wife been?”

“Doing well, and the new boy grows strong,” he nodded. Davos’ wife had become pregnant after she’d joined him at King’s Landing, a surprise to all involved, given that his wife was past 40 now. 

“Yes, congratulations, Lord Gendry,” Tyrion said, gesturing for him to have a seat at the table. “You seem to be getting bolder as you mature into your lordship. I have read that a Dothraki wedding feast is considered to be a dull affair if three or fewer people die during the event, but I was unaware this custom was becoming popular in Westeros.”

Gendry shrugged as he sat down. “To be fair, Lord Tyrion, nobody died at my feast.”

“Indeed. And even Dothraki husbands are not apt to send their wives off to duel with their guests.” Tyrion arched his eyebrow at that observation. 

“Arya felt she had something to prove and a point to make. She made it.” His clear blue eyes lit up as he revisited the evening again in his mind. 

“Oh, she has you _ whipped _ for sure,” Lord Bronn said as he leaned back in his chair. 

Gendry was unfazed. “We’re a _ team, _Lord Bronn. A very good team.” 

“Indeed,” Davos said as Bronn smirked but let Gendry have the last word. “Now, if you would, Lord Gendry, would you explain what you have in mind building a port in Shipbreaker’s Bay?”

…

“I apologize for intruding on a family reunion,” Ser Brienne said to Arya as she wheeled Bran out to the balcony above Blackwater Bay. “But given your brother’s… physical limitations, I’ve been vigilant about any threats to him.”

“There’s no reason to apologize.” Arya had a warm smile for the woman who had pledged her service first to her mother and then her and her sister. “I’m glad you’re here to protect him. Besides, you’re right to be worried.”

“The Dragon Army?” Bran said, starting out into the Bay and toward Essos over the horizon. 

“Dragon Army?” Brienne said. 

“You know?” Arya said. 

“I saw you in Asshai, remember?” Bran replied. “When I first became the Three-Eyed Raven, I would take over the body of whomever I would warg into, animal or human. I’ve since learned enough... control over my abilities to merely be a passenger, not the driver.”

Arya nodded silently. Ever since her reunion with Bran at Winterfell, she’d come to expect the unbelievable about her brother as a matter of course. 

“Passenger,” Arya said, turning toward him, hands on hips. “You seemed to be doing well enough to drive me to Gendry, and to pass along messages to him.”

“I didn’t conjure up the feelings that you had for each other,” Bran said, eyes still out to sea. “I just created an opportunity.” He looked up at Arya, grinning. “No thanks necessary.” Arya said nothing, but beamed down at him as she saw a shadow of the mischievous brother of their childhood.

“I should say congratulations as well,” Brienne said. “From what I have heard, he is a good man. However, he’s lucky to have _ you._”

“I know,” Arya said, grinning at her. 

She felt Bran lay his hand on her arm. “I'm going to need your help in the time to come,” Bran said. “Westeros is at peace, but the threats we now face come from across the seas.” He nodded toward the horizon. “We will have to pay attention to what goes on beyond Westeros if we are to protect it. I think I will need your husband’s ships to bolster our navy, and I may need you to be my right sword arm as you are for Lord Gendry. Or, actually, left sword arm in your case.”

Arya patted her younger brother’s hand. “It’s yours, now and always,” she said. “No thanks necessary.” The Stark siblings stared out across the Narrow Sea, and what might await them.

…

“I agree with Lord Barron, building the harbor is feasible with enough rock and time. It’s never going to be the safest of sailing, but this harbor will keep the ships protected once they enter it,” Ser Davos said. “You said that this is intended to give your warships a more secure location near Storm’s End to harbor in, correct?”

“We also want to build up our merchant fleet,” Gendry said. “I want to increase trade between the Stormlands and Westeros as well as Essos. The Stormlands don’t have as much as some, but… there’s plenty of lumber and fishing available, as long as we keep planting trees and not overfishing. We don’t have as much farmable land as The Reach, but more than the North, at least. And our smiths are starting to produce some fine goods.” Gendry drew his sword and placed it on the table for the lord’s inspection.

“You made this?” Bronn said. “Not a bad blade.”

“There are more and more smiths in the Stormlands capable of this,” Gendry said.

Tyrion examined a map of the Stormlands in front of him. “So, you are thinking the port would go there,” he said, pointing to a location just west of Storm’s End.

“Yes.”

“It’s what, maybe a kilometer away from the castle?”

“We’re hoping to build a town in the area, to help support the port.”

“That would likely need walls around it, then, likely connected to Storm’s End. That would be more than a little project,” Davos said.

“It would,” Gendry said.

Tyrion leaned back in his chair and contemplated Gendry, chin in hand. “Perhaps it might be good for the Stormlands to be run by a smith rather than a warrior who thinks of nothing but battle,” Lord Tyrion said. “And despite Lord Bronn’s desire to pinch coppers, we might be able to provide funding and even workers to help you with your project. However, you might have to help us in turn.”

“Yes, my Lord?”

“Right now, we lack anyone with the military leadership experience my father and brother had,” Tyrion explained. “The only man I can think of who would have that experience is beyond the Wall in pseudo-exile, as it were.”

“Jon.”

Tyrion nodded. “The only other _ people _with strong experience in leading and training troops would be Ser Brienne and your wife, and we may have to depend on them. Thankfully, with Lord Davos and your Lord Barron, we have experience with naval warfare, and a strong navy is likely going to be the key to keeping any dangers at bay.”

“Whatever Arya and I can do for His Grace, and for Westeros, you only have to ask,” Gendry said.

“I’d expect nothing else,” Tyrion said. “In addition, you can see the… incomplete state of affairs here. We’ve heard much about not only your smiths, but other craftsmen in the Stormlands, including your stonemasons. Do you think you could spare some of these men to help our rebuilding of the capital?”

“You tell me what you’d like, and I’ll see what I can spare from my people.”

Tyrion came around the table to shake Gendry’s hand. “You are much more reasonable than most of the people I deal with around here. The _ Dornish, _Gods… A drink?” he said, pointing to a nearby wine decanter.

“Wouldn’t say no.”

Tyrion began pouring for himself, Gendry, and the other council members. “When you and Lady Arya travel to Winterfell, King Bran wishes to travel with you. We’ll have Ser Brienne and some of the Kingsguard to escort you up there, and send some ravens to alert of your travel.”

Gendry thought for a moment. “Ravens? We’re just traveling to one place, though?”

Tyrion handed him a glass. “Queen Sansa wishes to be reunited with _ both _ of her brothers in addition to her sister.” Gendry’s eyes widened as he took a drink and realized what he meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell in love with the character of Tyrion Lannister the moment I saw him on the page, and I was hooked the moment I saw Peter Dinklage on screen as him (it wasn't fair - I had been a fan of his since The Station Agent). We only get a quick peek at Tyrion here, but I hope that I was true to the character in my portrayal of him.
> 
> With that being said, in the highly unlikely instance that GRRM is lurking on these pages, I wanted to give him thanks for telling a great story and letting me take his character on a trip for a while.


	9. The Queen's Consort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Arya, Gendry, and Bran approach Winterfell, they meet the consort of the Queen of the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ser Joren Flint is one of the few characters in this story that are of my own creation, of course inspired by GRRM and the writers of the series. If anyone is giving feedback, I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts about how I introduce and flesh out this character, as compared to those who inspired me.
> 
> I do think that Sansa would have eventually needed someone like Ser Joren to properly rule as Queen of the North. Although the show didn't always do Sansa justice in how they portrayed her, I think that the ultimate intention of GRRM is to see her evolve into an intelligent, ruthless, and practical woman with a sentimental side hidden from everyone except her family. I'm hoping that my writing is true to that character, and that Ser Joren would be a knight that would not look out of place in GRRM's North.

9.

“Arya, wake up. Arya?”

Arya stirred into consciousness. She remembered she was on a cot in a tent she shared with Gendry; they had been traveling with Bran and a good portion of his Kingsguard to Winterfell. As she opened her eyes, she saw Gendry sitting on the cot above her, a pewter plate in his hand. “Morning.”

“Interested in breakfast?” He handed her the plate, which had biscuits and sausage on it.

“Sounds like a good idea,” she said. As Arya dug into the food, she asked between bites, “What time is it?”

“It’s been a couple of hours since dawn. We’ll strike the tents soon and get going on to Winterfell.”

“I was looking around at where we were last night. I think we’re less than a day’s ride away from Winterfell now.” She paused to finish a biscuit. “I need to get ready, Seven Hells.”

She got up and walked to where her clothes were. Arya shed her nightgown and was about to put on her pants when she felt Gendry’s arms encircle her waist from behind. “I still can’t believe how lucky I am.”

With a good-natured groan, Arya separated herself from Gendry after reaching up to kiss him. “I’d _love_ to, but we need to strike camp. How long have you been up?” she asked as she started getting dressed.

“At least an hour,” Gendry said. “You’re usually up at dawn, but you’ve been sleeping in the past few days.”

“I’m feeling alright, just more sleepy than usual,” she said, pulling on first her shirt and jacket, then her boots. She went back to her cot to continue eating. “Nearly a month of travel and I’m getting worn out by it. I’ll be happy to stay in one place for a while.”

Gendry looked on, slightly impressed, as Arya finished the remainder of her breakfast in two minutes. “Thanks for breakfast, love,” she said, kissing him with a few biscuit crumbs on her mouth. “I’ll help you pack everything up.”

…

“Less than a day, you think?” said Ser Brienne as she, Arya, and Gendry got their horses ready for the day’s ride and the other Kingsguard members made sure Bran was secure in his carriage, specially designed for him to enter and exit with his wheelchair.

“Maybe a few hours, at most,” Arya said. “We’ll have about two more ridges to pass over and I think we’ll see…” her voice trailed off as she turned to the north.

“What is it?” Brienne said as she turned to the north as well.

Coming down over the next ridge along the Kingsroad from the north was a group of six horsemen headed toward them. All but their leader were wearing Stark-style bowl helmets, and one of the men at the back carried a Stark direwolf banner.

“Arya?” Gendry said.

For perhaps half a minute, Arya thought that either the resurrected Lord Eddard Stark or his ghost was leading the men coming toward them. _ Father, _she thought as she grabbed onto her saddle horn to steady herself. The man was dressed simply in black leather, with a simple wool cloak trimmed with wolf fur. He wore no sign of rank or house, no jewelry.

As he came closer, she confirmed that the man was, in fact, not her father. His chin was more square than Lord Stark’s; his brows more prominent than her father’s. He was younger than Lord Stark had been at his death, no more than 30. The only item that seemed to hint at his status was an ornate sword that, like her brother’s blade, sported a wolf’s head with ruby eyes at its pommel, but was shorter, easier to handle with one hand.

Brienne rode in front of the royal group to meet the visitors as Arya and Gendry walked their horses behind her. “Good day,” Brienne said. “I am Ser Brienne of Tarth, commander of the Kingsguard to King Bran of the Six Kingdoms. What is your business?”

The man and his followers came to a stop before the towering female knight, as Arya and Gendry arrived by her side. “My name is Ser Joren Flint,” the man said in a clear but gravelly voice. “I am commander of the Queensguard of Queen Sansa of the North of Westeros. I’m also her Prince Consort.” He almost mumbled the last sentence, and Arya had to hide a smile at his apparent discomfort at self-promotion.

“A pleasure, Ser Joren,” Brienne said. She gestured behind him. “This is Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands, and his wife…”

“Lady Arya Stark, yes,” Joren said. “I recognized you. I saw you during the Battle of the Long Night, on the battlements of Winterfell.”

“I apologize, Ser Joren, but I don’t remember seeing you,” Arya said.

“There were many people with swords, but only one woman warrior with a twin-bladed staff. I understand.” 

Brienne pointed to the carriage. “Ser Joren, this is…” she said, but was interrupted by the opening of a window in the carriage to reveal “...King Bran the Raven, Ruler of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros, the First Men, the Andals, and Rhoynar.”

Ser Joren bowed in the saddle. “Your Grace.”

Bran nodded in turn. “Thank you for escorting us, Ser Joren. I hope you don’t mind not getting out to greet you until we arrive at Winterfell.”

“Not at all, Your Grace. My Queen asked me to escort you to Winterfell. She eagerly awaits you there.”

“Our thanks, Ser Joren,” Brienne said. “Lead the way.”

Joren nodded. He was turning his horse north when Arya said, “Ser Joren? Do you mind if I ride with you to the castle?”

Surprised, Joren nodded. “Of course.” With that, the party started to make their way to Winterfell, with Joren and Arya in the lead, the rest of the northmen surrounding the party, and Brienne and Gendry following the lead riders close behind.

As she rode next to Joren, she said, “So, we are brother and sister then.”

Joren did a double-take at Arya, then looked ahead. “Yes, I suppose it is true.”

“After the war, why did you decide to stay in Winterfell?”

“There wasn’t really any place to go for me,” he said. “I’m the fourth of four boys in my family, so there was no significant inheritance for me. I thought serving the Queen in the North, helping her build an independent nation, there was something noble in that.”

“It had nothing to do with you being attracted to my sister, of course,” she teased.

“It wasn’t like that,” he interjected, immediately on the defensive. “Sure, she looked like my wife but with red hair instead of gold, but I didn’t start out thinking…”

“Your _ wife_?” Arya was incredulous.

She was surprised to see him unnerved. “I’m not an adulterer,” Joren said. “My wife, Summer, died a month before the Battle of the Long Night.”

Her face fell at that, and she looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

He looked not so much at her as beyond Arya. “She was about to deliver my child, but she became sick from fever,” he said. “She died giving birth to him, and then my son was infected and died from it three days after he was born.”

He was surprised to feel Arya lay her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Joren nodded. “Anyway, I thought Sansa was a wise queen who cared about her people, and she also reminded me of my dead wife. I’m sure she wasn’t quite as shallow as I was about the last part.”

Arya turned away, but could not hide her gentle laughter. “What?” Joren finally asked.

Arya turned back to him. “Have you ever toured the crypts under Winterfell?”

He shrugged. “Once or twice, I think.”

“Whenever you get a chance to go back down there, take a look at the statue of my father. I never really thought it was an exact image of him, but there was at least a resemblance there. Sort of like how you reminded me of my father’s face.”

He turned back toward the north, and Arya thought she could detect the tiniest of blushes on his cheeks. _ I think I might like this one, _ Arya thought. 

“Perhaps at the beginning,” he said. “Later, she depended on me. You have to understand, she needed a strong right arm, an enforcer…”

“A henchman,” Arya said matter-of-factly.

He nodded. “She believed, when I came into her service, that she could only fully trust three people in this world. The first was living Beyond the Wall, the second kilometers away in King’s Landing. As for you, you were on the other side of the world.” 

Her furrowed brow and glare made him think he overstepped his bounds. “My Lady, please don’t think that I or you sister blamed you for her loneliness, or for your leaving. We all have to make our own paths in life. Sansa is just glad you are safe and that she will see you and her brothers again.”

“Thank you,” Arya said, the tension leaving her. “Tell me, Ser Joren, how did the proposal of marriage come up?”

He sighed and nodded, looking out into the distance. “Truth be told, it was your sister’s idea. Her intention was to help secure her rule and kingdom.”

Arya looked away, toward home. “_ Heh_, that sounds like my sister for sure.”

…

(307 A.C., Winterfell)

Lord Robett Glover stood in the middle of the Great Hall, doing his best not to shake in the presence of the woman known as the Queen in the North. “Your Grace, I…”

“You will be silent, Lord Glover, until I say otherwise,” the queen’s voice commanded. 

Lord Glover looked up at the queen seated at the raised table, in an elegant black dress and her silver tiara crown. She almost resembled the nervous young girl who had pleaded with him to help her liberate her home from the Boltons. This woman’s blue eyes were now ice, any hint of uncertainty or naïveté gone. 

The man standing next to her likely helped give her a sense of security. Ser Joren Flint stood towering over the Queen, hand on the hilt of his sword, a fresh scrape on his right cheek. 

“When my brother and I asked for your assistance in retaking this castle from the Boltons, you refused. When we asked for your assistance with the Army of the Dead, you stayed in your castle to save yourself. Despite that, I was willing to forgive you. It’s something that I learned from my brother.

“However, my mercy is not a limitless thing,” she continued. “Especially since your nephew and heir Harlon Glover now stands accused of plotting with other renegade lords to ‘ease’ me out of this throne, as he put it.”

“I did no such thing!” Harlon shouted from the back of the room. Hurriedly dressed and with a battered face, Harlon sat bound to a chair. 

“Be quiet, lad!” Lord Glover growled as he whirled to face him. He turned back to the queen. “What proof is there of this?”

Sansa nodded to Joren, who emptied a satchel of letters and papers onto the table. “These letters, in the hand of your nephew and his confidants, detail the whole scheme. They also seem to indicate that you at best were aware of this plot and at worst assisted him in it. Do you have _ anything _ to say in your defense or for your nephew, Lord Glover?”

Glover waved to his nephew and his nephew’s wife, a terrified Rachel Glover, to be silent. “Your Grace, we had legitimate concerns about the safety of the North, and the succession of your Queenship. We just wanted to see that resolved.”

“Concerns so legitimate that you confined them to secret messages rather than bring them to my attention, or to the attention of my advisors,” Sansa said, fighting to keep a straight face. “Luckily for you, those plans for my succession are no longer your concern. 

“This is my judgement,” she continued. “You and your nephew will abdicate your claims to be lord of Deepwood Motte in favor of your nephew’s son, young Robett. You will retire to Deepwood and take no further part in politics. In addition, your nephew will serve in the Night’s Watch for a period of 10 years, after which he may return to the Motte for _ his _ retirement.”

“How does a Queen of The North have the ability to sentence a man to the Night’s Watch of the Six Kingdoms?” Lord Glover said. 

“My brother’s Watch accepts recruits from both within the Six Kingdoms and outside them,” Sansa replied. “There will be no difficulty in having Harlon join.”

“Am I to live as a widow, then, for the next 10 years?” Rachel Glover’s unsteady voice echoed from the rear of the chamber. 

“Not at all,” Sansa said. “You and your family may visit him at the Wall whenever you wish; you can even live up there for a time if you desire. He may come down to visit you as his duties allow. Also, Lady Glover, you will serve as regent to your son until he is of age to become Lord of Deepwood Motte.”

Rachel immediately kneeled before her queen. “Your Grace.”

“Also, keep in mind that my patience regarding your family has been exhausted. I will not tolerate any more rash talk or actions against my throne.”

It dawned on Lady Glover that her queen was addressing her directly, and realized that she would be expected to keep the peace. “I understand, Your Grace.”

Sansa nodded to Ser Joren. “Take them now,” he said to his fellow Queensguard and the castle guards. They removed the Glovers from the Great Hall with minimal fuss. 

“A shame his co-conspirators aren’t here to face judgement,” Sansa said after they left. 

“They choose differently, My Queen,” Joren replied. “If they were looking on from the other world, they’ll likely be thinking they made a poor deal.”

Sansa got up from her throne and stood next to Joren. “Thank you, once again, for your service,” she almost whispered. “It was invaluable to me.”

Joren kneeled, head bowed. “No thanks are needed. It was my honor.”

Sansa walked away from Joren then. She began to pace in the middle of the Great Hall, eyes closed. “What did you think of their concerns?”

Flustered, Joren rose and made his way from behind the table. “Your Grace, their concerns masked their own ambitions…”

“I’m an unmarried, childless woman whose siblings either sit on thrones of their own or who have scattered to the ends of our world,” Sansa said. “It would be _ unnatural _ for there to be no concern. It has been a concern of mine.”

She continued pacing. “I’ve learned much about politics and ruling from people in my life, both what to do and what _ not _ to do. One of the most important lessons I learned over time was to be aware of both my strengths and weaknesses. My father was a good soldier, a kind and honorable man, but he mistakenly believed that everyone would follow the same moral code he followed. Littlefinger… he knew how to scheme and manipulate almost any person, but he was vulnerable due to his love of my mother, first, and then me. I and my siblings were able to use that to bring him down. 

“Then there is me,” she continued. “I’ve found that I’m more skilled at ruling and the administration of my kingdom than I’d have ever believed as a young girl. I’ve had men killed before, but I’m not a warrior. I need a warrior by my side if my rule is to be secure.”

“Where might you get this warrior husband, the south?”

She shook her head. “No need to build more alliances with the Six Kingdoms when my brother sits on the throne in King’s Landing and an uncle and cousin rule two of The Six Kingdoms. If I found a candidate from somewhere in Essos, they would likely seek to add this kingdom to their holdings. No, I want to keep the North independent, and for that I will need a Northern husband.”

“Do you have someone in mind? I’m not sure one of the Glovers would be open to a proposal under the current circumstances.”

She turned to him in disbelief. “As thick as you are, it must have been a great effort discovering a conspiracy against me.”

“Your Grace?”

“I’m talking about you, do you not see? I’m talking about you.”

Joren dropped to his knee. “My Queen, how? Why?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Sansa said, motioning for him to rise. “You haven’t heard my proposal yet. I would name you Prince Consort. You would be a lord, but I would rule the North. You would continue to advise and protect me as before. You would be my husband. Our children would have the name Stark, to preserve my family name, and our oldest would inherit the North. I would ask much, to have your children take a woman’s last name.”

“it is a lot to ask; the name Flint would die out,” Joren said, sporting a sardonic grin.

Sansa rolled her eyes at the fact that a number of Northern houses had the Flint name. “Another advantage is that I’d already know you rather than having a stranger for a husband, like my mother did. She wanted to marry my uncle, but the Mad King put him to death. The only thing that she knew about his brother was that he was an honorable man.”

“That didn’t work for them?”

Sansa shrugged. “There was no romance between them at first, but she respected and admired him, and he her. Maybe that was more important than anything in the long run. She did love him by the time he died.”

“So, how do you feel toward me?” Joren said. 

She came closer to him. “I do admire and respect you. As for feelings of romance… I was once married to Ramsey Bolton. The marriage was a horror from beginning to end. The only good part about it was widowing myself by feeding him to his dogs. It was barely enough justice for me.

Joren’s eyes widened as he contemplated horrors unimaginable to him that she endured. “I have not been with a man since then,” she continued. “Ramsey hurt me in many ways. I do wish to have children, but I fear I would lack desire or would fear to be with a man for its own sake. If you do accept this offer, I would beg your patience with me.”

“Patience would be easy enough to give, and I hope to receive it as well.” Joren said. “I cannot imagine your experiences, but I think I will be awkward around you as well. This is not due to any unattractiveness on your part - if you had gold hair you would resemble Summer so much…” 

His voice caught in his throat and he could not continue. Joren only met her eyes with his own when she took his hand in hers. “I… my wife is not in this world any longer, but she remains in here,” he said, pointing with his free hand to his chest. “Or, maybe she is gone and taken part of my heart with her, I cannot say. I can only say that if you are willing to try and build affection toward me, I would be willing to do the same.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to have lost someone I was _ in _ love with, but I do know the loss of loved ones,” Sansa said. “You don't recover from their loss as much as you get used to it. If you would be willing to be patient with me and grow your affections, I could do no less.

“I can think of one other advantage of marrying you,” she continued. “You have proved yourself devoted to protecting me. But, how much more would you be willing to protect me if I was your wife and the mother of your children?”

“Practical as always,” Joren said, laughing, “but I suppose I am like you in that. This place, the place I have made here, is all that is left for me. If another man came here to become your husband, I’d just drive myself mad thinking _ what if_?” He looked into her eyes. “I accept your proposal, Your Grace.”

There was an extended moment of silence. Then, Sansa drew to him and encircled the back of his neck with her arms. Their first kiss had more of the effect of a handshake than a declaration of love - a sealed pact, a friendly acknowledgment. Despite that, they remained holding each other for a time afterward. 

“Joren,” Sansa finally said, “if we are to wed, you probably should start calling me Sansa when we are alone.”

He chuckled at that. “Very well, _Sansa_. When will we be wed?”

“Tonight, in the godswood,” she said. “The septon will be there to do the honors. No need for excess ceremony with this.”

“You sure?”

“My first - well, second - wedding, to the Bolton, was in that very godswood,” she said, ruefully shaking her head. “Another ceremony there will help to banish the other from the forefront of my memory. There can always be a wedding feast later.”

As she separated from him, Joren gave an exaggerated bow to her. “Whatever my Queen desires.”

Sansa walked behind the table and picked up what was a sheathed sword from the mantle. “I have something for you - not quite a gift, but something I want you to watch over for me.”

She laid the sword into his outstretched hands. It was capable of being wielded with one hand. Its pommel had the head of a white wolf engraved into it, complete with ruby eyes. As he partially unsheathed the sword, he saw the familiar ripple of Valyrian steel. 

“My father once had a Valyrian steel sword named Ice, nearly as tall as him and wide as a man’s hand,” she began. “After he was killed by the Lannisters, Tywin Lannister had it melted down and reforged into two different swords. The first Tywin gave to his son Jaime. _ He _ named it Oathkeeper, and gave it to Ser Brienne of Tarth to protect me and my sister, as he pledged to my mother. Ser Brienne still has it to this day. I feel it belongs to her - it’s only right since she’s using it to protect my brother. 

“This second sword,” she said, patting the blade, “was given by Tywin to his grandson Joffrey Baratheon. He named it Widow’s Wail just before he died.” She rolled her eyes at the memory. “Afterwards, his father Jaime kept the sword until his own death. Lord Tyrion recovered the blade from his brother’s body and sent it back to me. I had our smith change the pommel to what you see here. I also renamed it.

Sansa gazed into Joren’s eyes. “This is Winter,” she said. “I give it to you for safekeeping, to protect me, our future children, and this kingdom. And when our eldest son is of age, you will pass this blade on to him.”

Wordlessly, Joren knelt before her, holding the sword in front of him. Finally, as he got up, he buckled the sword around his waist. “You are certain our first son will be a boy?”

“A dream I had once,” she replied. “I don’t have the sight of my brother, but I have an intuition about some things.”

…

“...and we were married that evening. It has been a good match, a good marriage,” Joren said as he finished his story. 

That last comment amused Arya to no end. “You’ve been married for a year and already have a child. That’s something.”

Joren shrugged. “We’ve gotten on better than either of us expected.”


	10. The Pack Returns to Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa, Arya, and Bran reunite at Winterfell. The newest member of the Pack is introduced.

10.

The East Gate of Winterfell opened for Arya, Joren, and the rest of the traveling party. The familiar walls, the sounds of the hustle of workers and craftsmen at work in the stables and forges, and even the smells of the kitchen and the trees of the godswood wrapped her up, making her feel safe. As familiar as Storm’s End was becoming to her, this would always be her first home.

They rode under the bridge joining the armory and Great Keep, into the inner courtyard. There she saw the household staff of Winterfell lined up to greet the visitors.

In the middle of the line, members of the Queensguard standing behind her, was The Queen of the North. She stood clothed in her full regalia, with a grey dress decorated with a weirwood pattern from hem to waist, and her silver tiara on her head. 

Standing to her immediate left was a middle aged woman, apparently a servant or midwife. She had hold of an interesting contraption that appeared to be a cradle with wheels that was waist-high. Arya realized with a start who it was for. 

Arya has barely brought her horse to a stop before she jogged to Sansa, who shook her head in mock disappointment at her lack of any protocol, yet spread her arms wide for Arya to jump into. 

“I’m sorry,” Arya said, over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

Sansa patted her head and the back of her sister’s neck. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re here again.”

While they embraced, Joren dismounted and passed his and Arya’s horses to one of the stable boys. He walked up to the sisters as Brienne, Gendry, and the carriage carrying Bran entered the courtyard. 

Arya finally broke off the embrace and looked on from the side as Joren kneeled before Sansa and kissed her outstretched right hand. “My Queen.”

Sansa took hold of Joren’s shoulders to guide him up, then welcomed him with a kiss. “My Prince,” she said. 

Joren stood by Sansa’s right side as an uncertain Gendry walked up to her. He was surprised by the queen stepping forward and embracing him. “Lord Gendry,” she said. “Welcome back to Winterfell, _ Brother._ Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Gendry managed to force out of his throat. 

“It was a surprise to hear of your marriage, My Lord, but a pleasant one.”

“It wasn’t too much of a surprise for me, to be honest,” Arya said. 

Sansa’s eyes widened as a look passed between the two sisters. _ She’ll have to explain _ that _ to me when we get a chance to talk, _ she thought. 

Sansa turned to greet a kneeling Ser Brienne, who said, “Your Grace.” 

“A pleasure to see you again, Ser Brienne,” Sansa said. “Thank you for bringing my brother and sister to me.”

“My pleasure, Your Grace,” she said as she rose. 

Sansa now turned to Bran, who was wheeled to her by Ser Podrick. As his wheelchair came to a stop in front of her, Sansa bent down to embrace her brother and fellow monarch. “Little brother, it has been too long since seeing you.”

“It has been a while, big sister,” Bran said. “I’m happy to be back home again.”

“This is Jon,” Arya said.

Everyone turned to face her. She stood over the carriage, staring down at a robust infant with wide, dark eyes and a shock of black hair starting to come in at the top of his head. He wiggled as he attempted to raise his head to see the stranger above him. 

“Yes,” Sansa said. 

Arya laid her hand on the edge of the carriage. “Sansa, do you remember Talisa?”

Sansa had never expected that question, but she rallied to answer it. “Robb’s wife? I knew _ of _ her, but I never had the chance to meet her before…”

Arya nodded. “Me too. Did you know that she was going to have a boy? That would have been our first nephew.”

“Yes.”

Arya looked down at the crib, then back at her sister. Sansa nodded at the silent question. To the surprise of everyone, Arya reached into the cradle and brought the baby up into her arms.

“Hello, what a charming little fellow you are, Jon Stark,” she cooed to him. “I am the small and strange Aunt Arya your mother has certainly warned you of. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Sansa found herself wiping away a tear as Arya kissed her son on the forehead.

Arya turned to Gendry. “Would you like to see him?” She brought the infant to him and carefully laid him in her husband’s arms. 

“Hello, Jon,” said Gendry, taken aback by the new cargo he carried. 

Jon fussed for a few moments in the unfamiliar arms, but suddenly stopped squirming and looked away at a new figure in a strange chair. Jon held Bran’s thumb in his grasp as baby and king locked eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Nephew.”

There was a long moment as the child was transfixed at the sight of his uncle. “Ser Joren, he has your eyes and hair, but I think he otherwise favors his mother, and some of his mother’s father,” Bran said.

Joren smiled as he gazed upon his son. “Perhaps that’s for the best.”

Finally, Bran let go and turned to Sansa. “I think we can rest for a while,” he said. “Our brother travels here, but he will still be several days.”

“Of course,” Sansa said, accepting Bran’s news and his apparent communication with her son as readily as if he had reported birds flying above them. She came and reclaimed Jon into her arms from Gendry with practiced hands. “All of you must be tired,” Sansa said. “Let me show you to your rooms and you can rest and eat.”


	11. Sisters' Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Sansa have a heart-to-heart discussion on the walls of Winterfell.

11.

The morning after arriving at Winterfell, Arya sat awake in bed, in the room she had slept in as a child. In a way, it was a comfort to her, a familiar thing. But her night’s sleep had been filled with ghosts of the past and present. She needed a walk to clear her head. 

She leaned down and kissed a still-sleeping Gendry, before rising and getting dressed. 

…

Arya had wandered from the Great Keep along the walls of Winterfell until she came to a stop just short of the North Gate. She stared out to the north, toward what remained of the Wall and the Gift. _ What will it be like for him to return? _ she thought. _ Will he resent us, or act like our agreeing to banish him was not our fault? I don’t know. _

“Funny that I would find you out here like this,” a familiar voice called out from her right. “But maybe it’s not such a surprise.”

Arya turned to see Sansa walking up to her side. “What woke you so early?”

“Jon woke up hungry,” Sansa said. “The midwives warned me that babies often don’t sleep as much at first, but it’s not been bad with him. Listen to me go on about it, though. I’ve got a nanny and wet nurse to help out, which is more than most mothers have.”

“I’m sure it’s still not easy, though.”

Sansa turned to her and nodded. “Not easy, but not a burden. Last night at dinner, you seemed to approve of my choice of husband.” 

“I guess,” Arya said, chuckling at the randomness of the question. 

Sansa took a step back, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I’m acting silly, forgive me. It’s… when I last saw you, I could hardly consider my being married, much less picture _ you _ as someone’s wife. And yet here we are, two married women discussing husbands.”

“He seems a good man,” Arya said. “Some would say he has no ego or pride to be your junior partner, but I think his ego is actually very strong, strong enough not to be threatened by it.”

“I think you are right,” Sansa said, turning back north. “I had hoped to bind his heart and loyalty closer to me through marriage, but it has had the unforeseen side effect of binding my heart closer to _ him. _I worry for him when he leaves my side, even something as simple as leaving here to meet you.”

“Love and family do that to people.”

“It seems to have had an effect on you,” Sansa said in disbelief. “You spend a _ month _ at Storm’s End, after a three-year sea voyage, and you wind up getting married to its lord. You did that willingly, not at sword point or drunk?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Arya said, shaking her head as she turned to her sister. “Gendry and I… have a longer history.”

“‘_Longer history_,’” Sansa said, cocking her head to one side as she looked, disbelieving, at her sister. 

“Yes,” Arya said, exasperated and slightly embarrassed all at once. 

Sansa thought for a moment. “Gendry came to Winterfell with Jon and Danerys,” she said. “He helped us make the dragonglass weapons and fought beside us; that’s why the queen legitimized him. Did you meet him then?”

“Earlier than that. When Father was murdered, one of his men snuck me out of King’s Landing amongst a group of recruits to the Night’s Watch, to get me to Jon. He disguised me as a boy to do it.”

“Not the hardest of disguises for you to pull off,” Sansa said. 

“Ha, ha. Gendry was one of those recruits. He thought then his master had tired of his service, but we think now he was actually trying to keep Gendry from being killed along with King Robert’s other bastards. 

“As we traveled north, we became friends,” she continued. “I told him who I was, and he kept my secret. He protected me, and I saved his life at least once. But he was captured by the Brotherhood, who sold him to the Red Witch Melisandre, who took him to his uncle Stannis. That’s when he found out who his father was. They were going to sacrifice him, but Ser Davos helped him escape and hide in King’s Landing for a while. Of course, I was on my way to Braavos at that point because I thought all of you were dead. I thought _ he _ was likely dead or in some slave pit in Essos until I saw him riding into Winterfell.”

Sansa reconsidered her sister. “He was your… friend.”

“Yes.”

“Did he know you were leaving for the West?”

Arya shook her head. “I try to look back to that time, what I was thinking. I wanted to see what was beyond here, but I was running from so many things. I was running from the end of the war and having to face the fact I’d run out of people to kill and loved ones to revenge, and now I was just left with all the pain and grief I’d suffered and the pain and grief I inflicted on others because of it. I was running from the secret father kept, from what happened to Jon, from what Gendry was to me, _ could _ be to me. I seemed so brave to you, Sansa, but I was frightened of facing myself.”

At the end, Arya buried her face in her arms, leaning against the wall. Sansa laid a hand on her shoulder. Arya looked up, then stood up and embraced her sister. The queen kissed her on the forehead and said, “I don’t recall you ever looking to me for comfort when we were children.”

Arya looked up at her. “True. But, we’ve changed since then.”

“For the better. For the better, both of us.”

Arya shook her head as she stared up at her. “I don’t know if that’s true of me.”

“Don’t say that. You’re a good person, I know it.”

“A good person who got nearly her entire crew killed,” Arya said, turning back toward the wall. “All to see what was west of Westeros. Sansa, I’ve killed many people who deserved to meet death. I saw more people killed in a single day in King’s Landing, dozens of times over. But this... none of them deserved their fate. And it was all my fault.”

Sansa stood behind her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Leadership is hard,” she said. “You know in war, people die, and mistakes kill as many people as the enemy. It happens, and you didn’t mean for them to die. The best thing you can do is to care for the survivors and the families of the fallen and do your best not to repeat those mistakes again.”

“That I can do, but I don’t think a voyage is as serious as warfare.”

“Too much warfare is undertaken for reasons nowhere near as serious as they should be,” Sansa replied. “But your voyage wasn’t that.” 

“What do you mean?”

“As vile as Littlefinger was, he did teach me the value of information. The maesters have long thought this world was a globe, and you’ve proven them right. The Known World has _ grown _thanks to your voyage. That’s valuable information for us, for our family. I’m proud of what you have done.”

Sansa turned her sister to face her. “What did you find out?” she asked. “What did you see in the Sunset Sea?”


	12. The Sunset Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya begins her tale of what was west of Westeros.

12.

(305-306 A.C., The Sunset Sea)

The first land she encountered was a chain of islands in the center of the Sunset Sea. She named them the Sunset Islands, isolated by open seas all around. The number and size of the islands resembled the Iron Islands. Unlike the home of the Ironborn, however, the Sunset Islands were a lush volcanic archipelago, teeming with greenery and animals on land and fish and whales in their waters. 

They were also virtually empty of any signs of human life. They had spotted a group of people on one crescent-shaped island, dark-haired people with just the fewest of clothes and a shade of skin slightly darker than those found in Dorne. They had fled the moment they saw the _ Nymeria _on the horizon, and old Lord Barron had advised Arya from attempting to find them on unfamiliar land. “If the locals aren’t in a welcoming mood, best not to disturb them,” he’d said, and Arya finally agreed. 

On another island, where an active volcano oozed lava from its western end, Arya discovered signs of human life but no sign of humans. On the eastern end, there was a wooden keep near a ship’s dock, with walls and moat, but no people. Some of the _ Nymeria’s _sailors climbed the walls with ropes and opened the gate to the inside with no resistance. There they found grain and fresh water storage, longhouses, and some assorted tools... and a kraken banner hanging over the door of the largest fire the longhouses. 

...

“No Ironborn were there?” Sansa asked. 

“No one,” Arya replied. “We decided to leave before they accused us of trespassing.”

Sansa nodded at that. “What happened next?”

“Afterward, the _ Nymeria _stopped at a third island to take on fresh fruits and vegetables and game for provisions before continuing west. It took us six more months of sailing, but we finally found what was west of Westeros,” Arya said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This won't be a massive story of her travels - just a little over 8,000 words in five chapters of the more than 40,000 words in this tale is dedicated to Arya's journey around the world. However, I think I cover just enough of the highlights for you to get a feeling of its epicness.


	13. Midios

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya tells of the unknown continent of Midios and the people she encountered, including one man in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action of all kinds here.

13.

“The name of the continent, when translated in the Common Tongue, was Midios,” Arya said as she continued her tale. 

(306 A.C., Midios)

It was a long, narrow continent, nearly as long as Westeros but only as wide as The Neck in most places. It was actually separated into two sections by a narrow passage its inhabitants called the Middle Strait. It was so narrow that at its smallest, a scorpion could fire a bolt from one side and have it hit ground on the other. 

The Northern section of the continent was populated with a strange people, half the size of regular men with a grey tone to their skin, but strong and well-proportioned, wearing clothing that would not be out of place in the Riverlands. However, after approaching one village of those people, they were driven off by a hail of arrows and stones. That would be the first of many such encounters. 

…

After traveling around the entire northern part, they started skimming down the southern part of the continent. One day, they spotted a band of men, women, and children near the shore, attempting to escape from a group of armed warriors surrounding them on all sides. She saw one man wielding two curved swords at once, cutting down a dozen attackers in turn. 

“Please, help us!” the group called out, in words not far removed from the Common Tongue for Arya and her crew to understand them. Memories of the people of King’s Landing burning from dragonfire or murdered by the curved swords of the Dothraki flashed before her eyes. _ Never again if I can help it, _she vowed to herself as she ordered the ship to go to shore.

“Let’s go!” she screamed as she jumped over the side of _ Nymeria, _Needle and Catspaw drawn and ready to go. Her crew hurried to leave the ship and follow her on shore.

Arya reached the shore as some of the soldiers reached a group of children with swords drawn. “LEAVE!” she shouted at them, pointing with Needle.

One of them hefted a two-handed battle ax as he came toward Arya. “This is none of your business…” he said in a distorted dialect of the Common Tongue. 

With the swiftest of moves, she thrust Needle into his abdomen and upward into his chest cavity. In her next movement, she swung Needle with a slash to open up another warrior’s throat, ducked under the swooping sword of a third warrior, then lunged up and thrust Catspaw underneath his chin for a killing blow. The water dance was on.

She’d slain two more people by the time her crew came to fend off the remnants of the fighting force. After a few moments, the warriors realized their easy victory was no more, and they ran for the safety of the nearby jungle.

The women and children stared at the strange dark-haired, leather-clad young woman as she cleaned her blades and sheathed them. As she gestured to her crew to come to her, the man with two swords approached her. He had long medium brown hair and brown eyes. He was easily twice her height, with a powerful upper body and legs.

As he approached her, cleaning his own blades of blood and gore before sheathing them, he stared down at Arya with a mix of curiosity and surprise. “You are the captain of that ship,” he said.

Arya nodded. “Yes, I am.”

…

That was how Arya met Hagan Longarm. 

He said he was an experienced raider and pirate who had given up the life and returned to his old tribe, known as the Shan. In appearance, the Shan resembled the Andals and the First Men, though whether they were descended from a long-ago Westerosi expedition, some unknown people from eastern Essos, or others, Hagan could not say. He did know that they had lived in the southernmost tip of Midios (they informed Arya of the name of the continent) for perhaps ten generations. 

Their tale was thus; other local tribes were growing and getting more aggressive, attempting to take over the lands where they had hunted and gathered since the start of memory. Many of those tribes survived by raiding their neighbors or nearby islands, and Hagan had joined them as a young man for adventure and fortune. Now, however, he intended to take his tribe just north of the Middle Strait, near a mountainous area that would be easier to defend against any enemies. 

That evening, Hagan asked for Arya’s assistance in attempting to find safety. His plan was to cross overland west through South Midios, through the jungle-covered mountains running through the middle of the continent, and entering a city known as Togun, a major center for the rival clan known as the Togunoi. Many Shan women and children were being held there. The town was fortified against attack from the sea, but vulnerable to a land assault. After the people were rescued, the _ Nymeria _ could meet them in Togun and ferry the Shan to North Midios. 

Arya, who took pity on the large group of innocent women and children and had been impressed with the courage and skill of Hagan and his few fighters, agreed to help. She and two dozen of her crew would march through the jungle with the Shan, sneak into Togun, and free the hostages. Meanwhile, the _ Nymeria _ and its remaining crew would complete its voyage of mapping and discovery around South Midios, then turn north and meet the Shan and their companions just north of Togun.

The journey to Torgun was long and rugged. They often had to cut a path through the forests and jungle, and progress was slow. Thankfully, they never ran into any of the tribe’s enemies.

As the journey continued, Arya found herself drawn more and more to the tribe’s enigmatic leader, his sense of adventure… and his powerful physique. Hagan, for his part, was fascinated by the young female captain, and asked her how she had learned all of her fighting skills. He sat enraptured as she recounted her experiences with Syrio Forel, the Hound, and her time at the House of Black and White.

One evening, halfway through the trek, when some quantity of wine had been drunk by all and the rest of the party had gone to bed, Hagan challenged Arya to a sparring session. When she impulsively agreed, he added, “In our tribe, if a man is able to overcome a woman in combat, he can have her as a wife.”

“Oh, truly? I bet you say that to all of the women,” Arya said, cackling. “Tradition or no, I think you’ll find you won’t manage it tonight. Come on, then.”

The duel began. Both fighters were closely matched, his brawn and two swords not quite able to overcome the speed and agility of Arya and her Needle and the Catspaw. Finally, after losing one of his swords, he brought the other one down in a sweeping cut, stopping just short of Arya’s unprotected neck. “There, now!” he wheezed.

“Look down.” Arya was also trying to catch her breath, her eyes wide and grinning like a madwoman.

He did. He saw that Arya had the Catspaw in her left hand, poised to strike at Hagan’s unprotected groin.

“I think this would be a draw,” Arya said. “What do your customs say about this?”

Hagan laughed. “I believe it would be the woman’s choice as to what happens next.”

“Really? In that case…”

With her right arm, Arya knocked the remaining sword out of Hagan’s hand and then wrapped her arm around the back of his neck in an embrace. She dropped the dagger with her left hand, which she then used to reach for his backside as she stood up to kiss him.

They finally broke off the kiss. “Well, then…,” he said, grinning as he reached down and cradled Arya in his arms. He carried her to the hammock he’d set up for himself as they continued to kiss.

…

“And so we became lovers after that,” Arya said as she finished recounting the scene to her stunned older sister.

“Bloody hell,” was the only thing Sansa could say right away. 

“I’m not sure why,” Arya responded to the unasked question. “Maybe I do. He was handsome, in his own way. But I think it was loneliness more than anything. I’d been on that trip for a year and a half, away from everything. I didn’t realize that might be something I would miss. I couldn’t do _ that _ with any of the crew, so that was the option in front of me. So, I guess I took it.”

“You might miss it?” Sansa said, the realization coming to her. “That wasn’t your first time with a man?”

Arya laughed. “No, no, of course not. I’d made love to Gendry before then.”

The revelations kept piling up on Sansa. “When did _ this _ happen?

“The night of The Battle of the Long Night,” she said. “I thought I was going to die, so I thought I might as well know what it was like. It was actually nice, even though the sense of impending death loomed over everything.”

“Seven. Hells.” Sansa said as she clapped her hand to her forehead in puzzlement. 

“I never was a proper lady regarding everything else, why should I be proper about that?” Arya shrugged her shoulders. 

“I guess not,” Sansa said as she cast her eyes skyward. “So, what happened next?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were plenty of missed opportunities in the TV series, like not showing Arya and Sansa's reaction to the news of Jon's parentage. On a related note, however, I always thought it was strange that the only one who seemed to realize Arya and Gendry had something going on at Winterfell to be the Hound. I would have thought that she would have confided in Sansa or maybe Brienne about what had happened, but we never saw that. So, I assumed Arya and Sansa hadn't had time for that conversation (or Arya hadn't been willing to share it) and staged it here three years after the fact. Hopefully I did a decent job of it.
> 
> When I first began to realize what Season 8 was going to be and my first thoughts about how the ending could have been saved, I thought it would end either with Arya returning to Gendry or Arya going to the Summer Sea and going full Nymeria in some unknown land with some unknown lord. In the end, I sort of did a little of both, more the first than the second. Anyway. :)


	14. Revenge of the Shan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya tries to do good but finds tragedy in an unexpected fight.

14.

(306 A.C., Togun, Midios)

Togun sat before Hagan and the Shan and Arya and her men just before sunrise, As Hagan had said, the walls facing the sea were as high as those of Winterfell, obscuring the port and any ships there. However, the walls facing land were half again as high, able to be scaled by ladders the Shan had made out of saplings.

“What do you need?” Arya said when she and Hagan met before the assault.

Hagan nodded. “The main armory is over there to the right,” he said. “We’ll sneak over the walls - see, there’s only three towers on the back wall. We’ll kill those in the towers, climb over, then we’ll head straight for the armory. That will distract them enough so that you can sneak into that long building there. I’ve seen prisoners being kept there when we were here before; that would likely be where our people are being kept. Make sure they get free and out of the city with you and your northmen.”

Arya nodded. “Done. What would be the best way to sneak up to there?”

Hagan smiled at that. “Don’t worry. I’ll set up enough of a distraction that you won’t have to worry about it.” He looked around to see if they were alone, then gave her the quickest of kisses. “See you after the fight.”

…

The first rays of sunlight had not reached the walls when the arrows of the Shan and the Northmen eliminated the guards in the towers. They faced no opposition from anyone as they climbed the landward walls.

Arya and her 20 Northmen headed for the longhouse. Hagan had maybe 50 warriors, only about a fourth of the Shan tribe; the rest of them were children, older adults, and women with young children. Those warriors headed in the opposite direction, toward what appeared to be warehouses near the docks.

  
Arya tried to keep her men quiet until she heard shrieks and shouts from where Hagan’s men went. She saw them streaming out of where the Togunoi soldiers were barracked, setting fire to the buildings as well as others nearby. What warriors she did see were running in ones and twos toward the fighting near the docks.

“Come on!” she whispered to her men as she ran toward the longhouse. She struck open the locked door with a raiding ax, kicked it open… and found the building virtually empty. Only a half-dozen boys and girls in Shan clothing were huddled in the center of the room, terrified. “Where are your parents?” she said to one little boy. “Are they here?”

“Dunno, dunno.” He didn’t even raise his head.

Arya ducked outside the building to see what was happening. The flames were spreading out from the barracks area. She turned back inside and pointed to four of her Northmen. “You four, get these children to the rest of their tribe, outside the gates. Leave the gates open, too - don’t keep anyone from leaving. Some of these villagers may need to run to save themselves. The rest of you - with me!”

She hurdled through the streets of Togun, her men right behind. The flames had started to spread to the other buildings in the town. She thanked the old gods and the new that the civilians were avoiding death by fire or Shan blades. A steady stream of those townspeople were flooding into the streets and heading for the open gates.

Arya approached the barracks. Even though they were well-engulfed by flames, she could see the dead bodies in their beds from stab wounds and others who had managed to run out of the buildings but had been brought down by sword, spear, or arrow. _ Time later for that, _Arya thought.

She finally approached the large warehouse near the port on the northeast side of the city. There was a large set of wooden double doors leading into the building. Despite her size, Arya was able to kick open the unlocked doors with a single blow.

What she and her crew found left their jaws hanging. The floor of the building was covered in sacks of gold, silver, and bronze coins, precious gems, golden cups, dishes, crowns, and objects, fine silks, spices, and other artifacts. A handful of Shan warriors were busy attempting to gather up all of the items into sacks for transport.

_ Was this just a pirate raid? _ Arya thought. She ran to one of the men busy at work bundling up the loot - there was nothing else to call it - and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Whose things are these?” she shouted. “Do they belong to the Togunoi?”

The man shook his head. “This is of…,” then he said something that sounded like “the men in the sea monster ships.”

Suddenly, the clash of metal and battle cries emanating from the dock area became apparent and grew ever louder. Arya let go of the man and went toward the noise. As she exited the other end of the building, the gateway to the docks was right in front of her.

The sight before her stopped Arya in her tracks. Hagan was there on the docks, with maybe 40 of the 50 men he’d started with. They were surrounded by at least three times that number of warriors and sailors, attacking them with melee weapons and bows and arrows. Although a few of the warriors were Toguni, the vast majority were familiar Westerosi men wearing the sign of the Kraken on their tunics - the same Krakens that adorned the sails of two ships in the port.

Arya took in the entire scene in just a few seconds, as well as its implications. Despite any misgivings she had about the circumstances she found herself in, Arya realized she only had one choice to make.

She drew Needle with her left hand and Catspaw with the other. “Northmen! Northmen! With me!” At that, she hurled herself into the fray.

…

Lord Barron guided the _ Nymeria _ into the harbor of Togun. He had been preparing to meet the rest of the crew just north of the city, but he’d seen a signal of three flaming arrows shot over the harbor at once - the sign from Arya to come into the harbor instead. What he and the _ Nymeria _ found in the harbor was a charnel house.

Of the 20 men who had accompanied their captain, maybe eight were still alive, along with a dozen Shan warriors. The rest were strewn all over the docks, along with the dead bodies of the Togunoi and the Ironborn. Those warriors and sailors that were still alive, as well as some of the Shan women and older people, were busy taking the bodies of the Ironborn to one of their ships, gathering the remainder of the bodies into funeral pyres, and loading both the treasure and the Shan people onto the Ironborn ships.

Lord Barron walked down to the docks. He witnessed his captain walking along the docks, cleaning her blades as best she could. There was a slash wound to the left side of her neck and another slashing wound to her left hip. The rest of the blood that covered her from face to feet was not her own.

She stopped in front of a few Shan tribesmen, including a boy and a girl who were somewhere around 6-10 years old, surrounding their leader. Hagan had suffered three horrific wounds in the chest and lay spread-eagled on the dock. As Lord Barron approached the group, he could hear Arya say, “Is this what you expected?” as she kneeled down by his side. 

Hagan had to catch his breath before he could respond. “I thought they were all dead, everyone. My woman, my children - all of them. Turned out many of them were. But just my woman, not my children.” He took the hands of the boy and girl into his own.

Arya held his head in her lap as he continued. “Thank you, thank you for saving them,” he said, nodding to them. “I’m sorry about not being totally truthful, as well. If I had told you it was a mission of revenge, maybe you would still have been willing to go along with it. Or, have you had enough revenge for one lifetime?”

“I don’t know,” Arya said in a hollow voice.

Hagan nodded toward the ships in the harbor. “We knew the Togunoi were trading with those raiders with the sea monsters on their ships, so we thought that would be enough wealth to do us well in trading for years to come, to help us settle in our new home.”

“It might. Those raiders, they’re known as the Ironborn.”

“You know of them?”

“They’re from my part of the world.”

He turned back to Arya. “Captain, I beg of you one last service. Could you transport our people to the mountains I talked about? Half of the treasure we took will be yours.”

Slowly, Arya nodded. “It’s done.”

“Good.” He leaned back into her lap. “Well, at least I tried.” A few moments later, she felt his head and neck sag in her lap. 

The children realized what had happened after she slowly laid his head to the ground and stood uneasily up. She turned away as they embraced their father, sobbing. She had no words of comfort for them, because she knew they were useless and didn’t bring parents back to life from first-hand experience. She limped up to Lord Barron. 

“Looks like you were surprised,” he said. 

“Aye.”

He looked her over. “Need to get those looked at.”

She nodded. “I’ll have one of the tribe’s healers take a look at it; our maester will be busy enough.”

“Orders?”

She scanned the harbor and the ships. “We’ll load up the loot and the people in the _ Nymeria _ and the Ironborn ships. We’ll dump the bodies of the Ironborn at sea - no reason to anger the Drowned God, _ heh_. Prepare to burn the rest of the bodies, but get a full account of the dead - I want to make sure their families get a share of whatever we have left at the end of this disaster. Will we have enough people to sail all three ships?”

Lord Barron nodded. “Just barely, I think.”

“Good. After we drop off the Shan, we’ll sink the Ironborn ships off the coast and set course again for the west.”

“You want all trace of them to disappear, it seems.”

“I do,” she said, her eyes hard and staring out to sea. “There’s enough tension between the Salt Queen and my sister and brother regarding Jon. I don’t need to add to that. This way, for all they know back in the Iron Islands, their god took them.”

“It’ll be done.” Barron said. He lifted Arya’s collar and inspected her neck wound. “Get that looked at, please.”

She nodded. “Of course, first mate.”

…

That night, Arya wondered about her inability to grieve for a man that she had felt affection for and whether that meant she was incapable of feeling anymore. Then a nightmare that evening featured her coming across the dead bodies of her siblings at Winterfell, during The Battle of The Long Night. As she fell to her knees in shock, she noticed a fourth body - Gendry…

She awoke with a start in the captain’s cabin, wincing at the stitches in her neck and hip. 

Arya sat, shaking, for several minutes afterward. It was not from the dream itself; she knew, even as it was happening, that it was not true. She did realize that it meant that there were some people who could penetrate the walls she had built up around her heart. 

And she was also shaken about what the presence of Gendry among those she cared for meant. _ She’d left him, _she thought, but she'd left them all. For the first time, she wondered if that had been a mistake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to see the character of Arya start to grasp what she has gone through and what the consequences of life as a warrior and leader can be. Again, I don't think the 2D's did enough of that in the series, and I wanted to show in part that her choice to travel away from Westeros was as much to try and escape the trauma and loss she'd suffered and was unable to avoid now that her revenge quest had ended. How to do that? I thought making her clearly responsible for some trauma of her own might be a good idea.


	15. Pathfinder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsure of herself, Arya reaches out for help finding her way and gets it from an unexpected source.

15.

“After we left Midios, that was the darkest time for me,” Arya told her sister. “There were times I spent days in my cabin, thinking of Hagan, the dead innocents of his tribe, my own crew mates, and how bloody naive I was, about everything. It turns out it’s hard to run away from yourself stuck on a ship.”

…

(307 A.C., somewhere in The Sunset Sea)

For several months - Arya was not exactly sure how long - they continued west with no sign of new land. 

Finally, a large landmass crept over the horizon west by southwest of their courses, with a rounded coast and hilly forests. They tacked closer to the land, but there was no sign of any human civilization. 

The _ Nymeria _ got within 100 yards of the shore of this place when they saw what appeared to be a primitive fishing village. “Hello, is anyone there?” Lord Barron called out. 

As they got closer to the village, they saw figures making their way out of the huts. They were not men, however; they stood like men and moved like men, but they appeared to look like lizards, complete with scaled tails and claws on their feet and hands. 

Arrows and rocks from slings began whistling out from the village as a series of howls - a type of language? Battle cries? - emanated from its inhabitants.

“Back! Pull back!” Arya cried out as one of the arrows hit one of her crew in the eye and out through his skull.

The Nymeria pulled away from the village, chased by the arrows and rocks. “Which direction to now, Captain?” Lord Barron said.

“Keep following the coastline north by west,” a stunned Arya said. “We might want to stay away from arrow range from the coast at this rate.”

After burying the sailor at sea and making note of his name in the log, Arya volunteered to take the night watch on behalf of her worn-out crew. When she was sure that the deck was empty of other people, she let out a scream of frustration.

“What do I _do_? I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

She looked up to the skies. There were the Seven Gods and the Old Gods and the Drowned God, the Lord of Light and the God of Death. But there was one being that she thought she could call and expect that she might get an answer.

_ Bran! _ she yelled inside of her head. _ Bran! Where are you? I need you now! I need help. Please. _

For a long time that night, there was nothing. Then, she saw a flight of seabirds off the _ Nymeria’s _ starboard stern turn around from their path and come toward the ship. She saw them fly overheard, the lead bird seeming to stare down at her as they continued on their way.

Hello, sister, she heard inside her head. It has been a while.

_ Bran, is that you? I need your help. _

You did say you wanted to see where the map ended. You certainly did _ that_. 

_ Do you know where I am? Do I have to go back the way I came to return home? _

If you sail in the same direction, you’ll return to where you once were on the other side.

_ Where am I now? _

You are off the northeast coast of Ulthos. Only the northwest part of Ulthos is on our old maps.

_ Where do I go from here? _

Keep following the coastline on your current course. Eventually, you will be in the Saffron Strait. As you exit the strait, the city of Asshai and the Shadowlands of east Essos will be to your north. From there, follow your charts and the setting sun home to Westeros. 

_ Thank you, Bran. It’s good to hear from you again. I love you. _

As do I. 

She felt Bran’s presence leave her. She was left alone with her thoughts as she stared out at the coastline of Ulthos. 

…

“If he was able to do that, maybe you should’ve just had Bran map the world and you stay home,” Sansa said to Arya on the walls of Winterfell.

“There’s only so much you can see through the eyes of birds and animals,” Arya said. “You need to be on the ground yourself to explore it fully. And we didn’t explore everything by any means. We only mapped maybe half the coast of Ulthos at best, we never went anywhere near Sothoryos, and we didn’t see any of the eastern coast of Essos.”

Sansa nodded. “Still, I’m sure you were glad Bran could help.”

“I was. Truthfully, we needed his help, especially when we got to Asshai.”

“What happened in Asshai?”

Arya stared off toward the horizon. “Strangeness, darkness, and death. That was another Long Night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will tell you, trying to write something involving a nearly all-powerful character like Bran/3ER can be a massive challenge from a logistical and logical standpoint. I'm not surprised the 2D's didn't do it perfectly; it's a tough thing to do. Hopefully I didn't screw it up here, but the process likely prompted the meta commentary from Sansa in this chapter.


	16. Asshai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya finds darkness, danger, and a surprising threat at a stop in the port of Asshai.

16.

(307 A.C., Asshai, Essos)

The city looked over the horizon well before the _ Nymeria _reached its port. It was a black stone colossus straddling the Ash River, a black slash of water entering the Jade Sea. 

“Impressive,” Lord Barron said as he joined Arya on the forecastle of the ship. She was gazing through her spyglass at the walls of the city. 

“I’ve been to Braavos and King’s Landing. If you put both of those cities inside the walls of Asshai, you’d only fill it by half. Incredible.” She closed her spyglass and turned to him. 

“You think we still need to stop there, Captain?” Barron said. 

“There’s not too much of a choice,” Arya said. “Our food and water stores are low, and we won’t be able to wait much longer to fill them.”

“It will cost us there,” Barron said. “All of the food and water is imported because all animals die in the city if they stay there for too long, and the Ash River is unsafe to drink from.”

“We have enough money if we need it,” she replied. 

There was a leather map case at her hip. She opened it and unrolled a map that had familiar shapes on it. Arya pointed at the western edge of the map. “We left the known world here, and then came back around here,” she said, then pointing at Asshai. “The men are getting exhausted, the ship is exhausted, _ I’m _exhausted. We’ve been at this for two years, give or take. They want to get home, and I’ve asked enough of them. We’ll get what we need here, then start following the south coast of Essos back to Westeros.”

Lord Barron nodded. “On to Asshai it is.”

Arya turned back to look at the city. The sun was setting in front of them, and the Ash River was transforming from a black to a green glowing ribbon that illuminated the city. She suppressed a shudder at the sight. _ It’s like we’re entering the underworld, _she thought. 

…

For such a massive city, there was barely anyone in the streets when Arya and Barron walked to the markets. “Where are the children?” Arya asked him. 

“None to be found here, according to the stories,” Lord Barron said. 

“None without a mask or veil either, it seems.”

“As the tales said, as well,” he agreed.

They found a masked food merchant in the bazaar nearest the port. The cost of the food, ale, and water was just under extortionate, but they could move the grain, ale, and water onto the _ Nymeria _ that evening and thus be ready to leave on the next morning tides.

…

Arya was drifting into sleep in the captain’s cabin. The nightmares had been appearing less frequently in her dreams recently, so she hoped for a decent night’s sleep even though the glowing Ash River could be seen passing into the sea through the cabin’s windows.

It was just as she was drifting off to sleep when she swore she could hear her Bran’s voice. Arya, you need to wake up now.

She sat up in her cot. _ Bran? _

Arya, they are coming after you. Get off your ship as soon as you can.

In a flash, she was out of her bed. She counted herself lucky that she decided to sleep clothed and only had to slip on her boots. Then, it was just a matter of finding her weapons, a full wine skin, and her collection of faces in a satchel, and she was prepared for what would come next.

Two figures dressed fully in black made their way down ropes to the windows of her cabin. They drew swords once they entered the cabin, and crept up to her cot. Both of them thrust those swords into the bedclothes on the cot.

The assassins realized in a split second that Arya was not in the cot, but that was too slow for them to deal with the former Faceless Man. She used Needle to stab one of them in the back and through the heart, and them she used the Catspaw to open up the throat of the second one. Blood flowed over the bed as Arya began to hear grunts and the sounds of people being stabbed on the upper decks.

Arya tiptoed to the windows and looked upward. The assassins had secured their ropes to the poop deck, so she borrowed one to lower herself into the water without a sound. Trying to avoid drinking any of the Ash River or seawater in the process, she began to swim toward the dock.

To her surprise, when she got to the docks, she saw Lord Barron waving to her from underneath the dock, clinging to a pier with his other hand.

“What happened?” Arya asked as she swam up to him. 

“Raiders, Captain,” Barron said. “They hid their approach well, some strangeness or magic, perhaps. All sorts of it is practiced here. They dispatched some of our crew and took the rest prisoner. Look, they are leading them off the _ Nymeria _now.” He pointed to a group of black-clad raiders leading her crew down a gangplank to the dock. “I managed to jump off the side just in time. Hopefully they think they put an arrow in me or something.”

“What do they want, our cargo?”

“They said nothing of that. They were looking for you, specifically. ‘Where is Lady Arya of House Stark?’ they said.”

“They want me? Huh.” She turned back to Barron. “How many of our men dead?”

“Not sure. Eight, 10 maybe?”

Arya’s eyes narrowed. “They’re going to get more of me than they ever wanted. I’m going to take care of whoever they have on the ship. After that happens, I need you to get back on the _ Nymeria _ and get it ready to shove off at a moment’s notice. I’m going to get our men back and find out what they want with me.”

…

Arya approached a black cylindrical tower, adorned with bizarre creatures that were mixes of people, birds, and reptiles all at once. It was isolated from nearby buildings and unattached to the city walls. Slit windows dotted the tower up until its top portions, which had wider windows. A pair of wooden doors was the only obvious entry point. 

_ This is it? _ Arya asked. 

It is.

_ Good. I have to do some bad things now to get my people back. _

“He who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Father would have understood.

It took Arya a moment to get a hold of herself and not let her emotions overwhelm her before the task at hand. _ Bran, thank you for being here. You seem more like… you. _

I’m the Three-Eyed Raven; I am many people all at once, not just Brandon Stark. However, as I have learned and gained better… _ control _ over my abilities, it is easier to find him.

She nodded despite speaking to someone on another continent as she searched through her satchel. _ I’m glad._

…

The guard opened the peephole to the door. “Is that you, Sado?”

The figure dressed in black, hooded and wearing a black false face mask, nodded. “I need to come in.”

“Show me your face.” Sado raised his mask to show the bland features of a young man, dark-haired and white complexioned as many of the people in Asshai were.

“OK.” With another guard at his side, he opened the door. Sado walked past him as he and the other guard shut the door behind them.

“Now, Sado…” was as far as the first guard got as he and his companion had their throats slit a split second after they closed the door.

…

The woman wearing a flowing black gown and intricate silver and ruby necklace stood over the flayed Northman with a feeling of dread. She was dark of hair, pale of skin, and with blue upon blue eyes that stared at the now eyeless and skinless Northman. _ Useless questioning him,_ she thought.

There was a knock on her chamber door. “Who is there?” she said.

“It’s Sado,” was the response. “I have new information about the Stark girl.”

“Come in,” the woman said. 

The door opened, and the woman heard a _ thump._ She turned around to face the door and saw the head of one of her acolytes rolling through the doorway. She jumped and stumbled a few steps backwards at the sight, and then two other heads rolled through the door. 

Sado walked through the door. “I wanted to get your attention. Did it work?”

“When did you get the courage to conspire against me, Sado?” She was puzzled to see Sado wielding an unfamiliar weapon, a light sword in his left hand.

“To tell the truth, he didn’t.” With his right hand, he reached for his face and peeled it off his head. It revealed a hard, grey-eyed woman, maybe half her height, but menacing with the sword. 

The woman in black let out a shuddering sigh. “You are Arya Stark of Winterfell. The Wild Wolf.”

Arya nodded as she pointed her sword toward her. “Correct.” She noticed the body on the table, but closed her eyes for just a second to shut that out of her mind for the present. “You have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don’t know you.”

“I am Freya, the mistress of the Royar Clan of practitioners,” she said, gathering herself.

“Shadowcasters.”

“Among other arts. Maybe some of them you know.” Freya gestured to the face in Arya’s hand. “There had been tales of you serving in the House of Black and White in Braavos, as a Faceless Man. Apparently the tales were true.”

“For a time,” Arya approached her, yet lowered Needle to waist level. “What does a witch clan want with me?”

“There is a reward for your capture, word of which has spread throughout Essos. When we saw your ship come into the port and you leave the ship, we decided it was a rich enough reward for us to try to earn it.”

Arya asked how much the reward was for, Freya told her. Afterward, Arya arched an eyebrow and let out a low whistle. “That’s about one-quarter the amount of taxes my sister receives from her subjects in a year. Who wants me that badly?”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Not unless I have to.” 

Freya nodded toward the heads of her followers in response.

“_They _ had to answer for the lives of my crew. I want someone to pass along a message to the people who hunt me. I would prefer you to be alive, but if I have to write that message on the walls of this room with your blood, I’ll settle for that.”

“How would I ensure that I survive to pass this message, then?”

“Keep answering my questions, and don’t even think about casting a spell against me. I’m less than 10 feet away from you, so you’d get skewered before you could even finish an incantation.” 

Freya stared at the young woman’s face and found no anger there but no mercy, either. “Keep asking your questions.”

There was the sound of motion near the doorway. One of the Northmen sailors Arya had just rescued pointed his head through the doorway. “Orders, Captain?” he said.

“Grab him and the rest of our dead,” Arya said, nodding toward the flayed body on the table. “Get some of those books on the shelves here about dragon lore and some of the mystical books - the maesters at King’s Landing and Winterfell might find them of interest. Then get to the ship and help make everything ready to cast off as soon as possible.”

“What about you, Captain?”

Arya pointed at Freya with her sword again. “I have business with this one. Tell Lord Barron that I will be behind you in a few minutes and that we will leave right away.”

“Yes, Captain.”

As the dozen or so crew remaining of the _ Nymeria _ began gathering both dead men and books, Arya turned back to Freya. “You were going to tell me who put that price on my head.”

“The Dragon Army and the Dothraki Horde. They are allies.”

“What? Who are the Dragon Army?”

“When the Dragon Queen was killed in Westeros, after her conquest…”

“Yes, yes, I was there. _ Anyway _.”

“Anyway,” Freya continued as Arya’s men started to exit the room, “the survivors of the Dragon Queen’s army scattered. The few Dothraki who survived The Battle of the Long Night and the Sack of King’s Landing reunited with their brethren in the Dothraki Sea. Eventually, Khal Orgon, one of the Dragon Queen’s bloodriders who traveled with her to Westeros, became their leader.

“Grey Worm, the leader of the Unsullied, took his remaining troops to Naath. There they trained the people of Naath in their ways of fighting. It turns out that you don’t have to be a eunuch to fight like an Unsullied.” She chuckled at that. “They are known as the Dragon Army, made up of former slaves from Dragon’s Bay, Naath, and the Summer Isles, and the 300 remaining Unsullied who serve as Grey Worm’s personal guard. We have received word that they have taken over Meereen and forced out Daario Naharis and the Second Sons from their rule there.”

Arya’s brow furrowed as she tried to take all of it in. “And they all wish me dead?”

Freya cackled at that. “No, you would simply be leverage against the man both the Dragon Army and the Dothraki wish blood revenge on - your brother, the Queenslayer, the White Wolf.”

“Jon?”

Freya nodded. “Him, and his brother the Broken King, and his sister who is queen in the North of Westeros. They wish revenge against all of them. They have the same price against your queen sister and king brother, and there is twice the amount of loot for your White Wolf brother, dead or alive.”

Arya took a deep breath. “And the Dragon Army and Dothrakis are still… allies?”

“They have a mutual interest in revenge,” Freya said. “They have different priorities. The Dragon Army wishes to free all of the slaves of the world from bondage. They plan to extend their rule through western Essos, even into Old Valyria, the Summer Isles and Naath, Sothoryos, and Ulthos. They believe once this happens, Daenerys Stormborn will be resurrected from her hiding place in Old Valyria and rule the free peoples of the world once again. The Dothraki think she is their new Dragon Goddess, and will lead them to victory throughout the remainder of Essos. Both wish to obliterate Westeros and its people.”

“Hmm.” Arya looked around the room, then turned back to Freya. “Very well, I believe you have told me the truth. Now, you will hear my message.”

“Go ahead,” Freya said, nodding.

Arya brought the tip of her sword to within an inch of Freya’s nose. “This is a pretty blade, isn’t it? It was a gift from the White Wolf to me.”

“It is fine craftsmanship,” Freya said as she tried to catch her breath.

Arya sheathed Needle before she began. “I am devoted to no one more than my family, and no one more than my sister and brothers. Tell anyone you meet that _ they _ are under _ my _ protection. Whatever harm is done to them, I will revenge upon those responsible threefold. They will suffer all of the tortures known to man, their homes will be destroyed. Not only will their lives be forfeit, but the lives of their brothers and bannermen. Any who do harm against my brothers and sister should pray that their sons are but children, because if they are full-grown then _ their _ lives will be forfeit as well. I have done this all before in the name of my family, and I will do it again if they are threatened. Do you doubt the truth of my words?”

She shook her head. “I do not.”

“Very well.” She started to leave the room, but she turned back to Freya one more time. “You talked of the Faceless Men. Are they seeking to collect the bounty on my head?”

“They are not.”

“Why not?”

Freya had a long laugh at that. “Woman, your reputation has grown by leaps and bounds. It is known that you were the slayer of the Night King. The Faceless Men fear the powers and abilities that you must have.”

“The Faceless Men fear no one.”

“All assassins are alike in that they hunt people that they are sure that they can kill. I think they are not sure they can kill you now.”

“You seem to know a hell of a lot.”

“I do have the gift of prophecy, I must say.” She was trying to be modest and failing miserably.

“And all prophecies come true,” Arya scoffed as she headed for the door.

“You say that you would only revenge your family, but that is not true,” Freya said, stopping Arya in her tracks. “There is a man that you would protect, that you would revenge. He is not part of your family, but he could be. You will see him again.”

Ayra looked over her right shoulder at the witch. “You have any idea what’s going to happen at this meeting?”

“It is unclear.” Freya shook her head. “I do know that you will meet.”

“Clear as mud, I see. Well, farewell to you, Freya of Asshai. Make sure to spread my message.”

“I will.”

…

“My Lady… Captain,” Lord Barron said, shaking his head as if to clear it as he helped Arya get on the _ Nymeria _ over a gangplank. “We worried you weren’t coming.”

“I had to have a few words with a new acquaintance,” Arya said. “Are we able to make way?”

“We can shove off, but there is no wind to speak of. From our information of this place, the wind will not pick up until the morning at least.”

“What about the oars?” There were openings in the _ Nymeria’s _ middle deck for oars to pass through and for the crew to propel the boat by rowing in the old galley style. “We could put some men on that, surely?”

“Not counting the two of us, we have 14 crewmembers left,” Barron said. “We could probably put 10 men on the oars, with the rest of us making sure the ship travels straight. Even with 10 men, though, we’ll not manage more than two to four knots, at most.”

“Well, two to four knots is better than sitting still in this harbor and waiting for someone else to attack us,” Arya said. “Let’s get underway, and then we can pick up sail in the morning.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I learned about the city of Asshai, the descriptions of it always fascinated me. I knew that someplace as weird and dark and dangerous as that place had to be a milestone in Arya's voyage around the world. Hopefully I've done this weird city justice while allowing Arya to bring her Faceless Man skills out of retirement.


	17. The Path Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an epic voyage, Arya makes her way back to Westeros.

17.

“After Asshai, I was done taking chances,” Arya said to Sansa on the Winterfell walls.

(307-308 A.C., Essos)

Now that she had returned to the map of the Known World, Arya, what remained of her crew, and the _ Nymeria _stayed close to the southern coast of Essos. They stopped for just a few hours each in Qarth and New Ghis, just long enough to pick up whatever supplies they could and move on their way. Whatever they couldn’t buy, they scavenged from unoccupied areas of the coastline. 

Arya worked harder than any member of the crew, staying on watch all night for days on end, reviewing the navigational charts for the next sighting of familiar land. “Westeros and home, boys, Westeros and home,” was her message as they got closer and closer to the end of it.

They rounded the southern edge of what remained of Old Valyria, yet she had no interest in exploring there and traveled straight to Lys for a final refit. After just two days there, the ragged _ Nymeria _and her exhausted crew headed due northwest for the Stepstones and then Westeros. 

However, before they could reach King’s Landing, a typhoon swept across the Narrow Sea, further battering the ship into near-unseaworthiness and sweeping at least a few of her sailors into the sea and out of sight. 

It was then that she heard from Bran, his plea to steer into Shipbreaker Bay. It seemed suicidal, but he told Arya that a killing storm would be in their way if they kept going north. 

As the _ Nymeria _rode the rumbling waves and got closer to the drum-shaped castle, uncertainty gripped her. She wondered if she would make it the last few miles to the end of her journey. And after… she knew who would be there, but what would happen?

It was then that she heard a _ crack _ above her. As she looked skyward, she saw a tangle of broken wood and rigging headed toward her. After that was darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the story of Arya's voyage around the world comes to an end. I'll say that the remainder of the story will show the old and new members of the Stark Pack putting the past behind them and looking toward what the future will hold for them.


	18. Sisters' Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Arya finishes telling the story of her voyage to Sansa, she surprises her sister with unexpected news.

18.

It took Arya nearly as long to recount what had happened after she’d woken up in Storm’s End as the tale of the voyage itself. 

Afterward, Sansa put her arm around Arya as they gazed out toward the north.

“I’m proud of you,” Sansa said. “Thanks to your new maps, we know there’s a reason for us to be aware of what’s west. The fact that the Ironborn have been busy west of us is important all by itself.

“As a bonus, those books that you.. _ obtained _from Asshai will be valuable in researching information about eastern Essos and the magic practiced in the Shadowlands,” she added. “The maesters will start looking them over.”

“I’m glad,” Arya said. 

Sansa felt her sister’s shoulders shiver underneath, although she was dressed warmly enough, including a fur-trimmed cloak. Arya’s gaze was focused on the horizon, her mind seemingly far away. “Arya? Is something wrong?”

She surprised Sansa with a wild, cackling laugh, as she took Sansa’s other arm and wrapped it around her. “Wrong? It’s more like something maybe worked right, I guess.” She shook her head, stunned at something unknown. 

“What is it?”

Arya looked up to face her sister. “I’m not sure. I think I need to meet with one of your maesters.”

“Why? Something about the books?” 

Arya shook her head. “I need one of them to… examine me.”

Sansa looked down at her. “What, are you not feeling well?”

“Not that.” She looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with her sister. In a whisper, she said, “I think there’s a baby inside me.”

Sansa gasped as she turned Arya to face her. “It’s Gendry’s,” Arya quickly said, “if it were Hagan’s, I would have given birth in Essos…”

“I know how long it takes, Arya, remember?” Sansa chuckled.

Arya’s glanced at her sister’s stomach for a moment. “Oh, right.” 

Sansa was silent for a moment. “How… do you feel about this?” she finally said. 

In Arya’s face, Sansa could see fear and uncertainty fighting with excitement and joy. Her sister finally gave a stunned smile as she nodded. “I’m surprised that I want it as much as I do. But…” she trailed off. 

“But what?”

“I’m a _ killer_, Sansa. I’ve murdered those who killed our parents and brother, I put people to death on your orders, I’ve robbed and pillaged as much as any Ironborn. Is that a mother?”

“Cersei murdered enough people.”

“_She’s _not the type of mother I’d want to be,” Arya replied in disbelief. 

“Okay, then, _ I’ve _ caused plenty of death. My son still smiles when he sees me.” She gazed into the open sky for a moment, remembering. “My father and brothers were murderers, my husband is a murderer, _I’m _a murderer, my son will be a murderer. What difference is it if my sister’s one?”

“What?”

She turned back to Arya. “Something The Hound said to me once.”

Arya nodded in understanding. “I miss Mother so much now,” she said. “I wasn’t much for her advice growing up, but I could really use it for this. I’d even listen this time…” She sobbed and collapsed into Sansa’s arms. 

Sansa stroked Arya’s hair as she held her. “She loved you, you know.”

“I know, I know!” Arya said. “I… I just wish…”

“And she knew you loved her too, despite all the disagreements and you not wanting to be a proper lady,” Sansa said. “_She knew_.”

Arya looked up. “How…”

“Mothers _ know_. That’s about as well as I can say it. Trust me.”

Although tears still streamed from her eyes, Arya started to get control of herself. “It’s not fair. Mother would have been overjoyed with something I did for once. She’d have loved being a grandmother.”

“She would have. I missed her too, when Jon was born. But I managed, and tried to think of her being happy and seeing us from the other life.”

Arya shook her head. “But, Sansa. What am _ I _ going to be able to teach a baby?”

Sansa took Arya’s chin in her hand so their eyes met. “I remember you going on about Nymeria and Visenya when we were children. They were warriors like you, right? Well, both of them were mothers, too. It didn’t stop them from doing what they wanted.” Arya was silent, the message sinking in. “If you have a son, Gendry can teach him how to swing a hammer and craft a sword and armor. If you have a girl, you can teach her how to swing a sword and shoot a bow.”

Arya laughed in spite of herself, but she still looked lost. “And what if I have a little girl who wants to be a proper, clever lady, like you?”

Sansa found herself laying her hand over her sister’s stomach, almost by instinct. Arya covered it with both of hers. “If that happens, when you think she’s old enough, you can send her to visit me, and I’ll teach her all that I know and have learned.”

The tears flowed freely from Arya’s eyes again as her sister continued, “And, I’ll only agree to that under one condition. If _ I _ have a little girl who wants adventure and swordplay, I’ll send her to _ you _ to visit when she’s old enough and you can teach her how to do it properly. Do we have a deal?”

Through her tears, Arya nodded. The two sisters embraced to seal their agreement, and no more words were needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I thought about attempting this story, this was one of the first scenes I pictured in my head. I really thought about how the scene was going to play out. I wanted to show the growth in both of these young women, and the maturation of their relationship with each other, while acknowledging all that they had lost and celebrating what they now had.


	19. Mother Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya surprises Gendry.

19.

Four nights after they arrived in Winterfell, Arya and Gendry found themselves in each other’s arms after making love. 

Arya rested her head against his chest, as she tried to catch her breath. _ Such a strong man, _she thought. _ I do love him._ _ This will work. _

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Arya asked as she held him closely. 

That caused his jaw to drop for a moment. “Are you joking?” Gendry said as he kissed her forehead and neck. “You were amazing as ever.”

“I wondered if everything was good,” Arya said as she climbed on top of him. “I wanted to see if I felt different to you.”

“What?” Gendry’s eyes widened as he was puzzled by her question. 

She chuckled as she brought her face closer to his. “I forgot about your ‘limited’ experience with women. It’s not likely you’ve ever made love to a woman that had your child inside her.”

“What do…” Gendry froze, his eyes searched Arya’s face. She held her breath in the silence, anticipating his reaction, pleased she had bewildered him and terrified of a negative response, and just as anxious about what a positive response would lead to. 

Gendry finally met her gaze. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she breathed. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then, he rose to meet her, holding her face in his hands. Gendry kissed her as he sat up in bed, the two of them embracing face to face as she straddled his lap. “I love you,” he said as he buried his face in her neck. “I love you so much.” 

Arya felt his silent sobs as she encircled his shoulders with her arms and his waist with her legs, tightly clinging to him. “I love you too.” Still fearful, she asked, “So, is this good news?”

Gendry was incredulous as he raised his head. “You’re my _ wife._ You just told me we’re going to have a child, that our family is going to grow. How is that not good news?”

“I’m happy and terrified at the same time,” Arya said, shivering for a moment. “I have no idea how to be a mother and I’m scared I’d have to be someone completely different to do it properly.”

“You are going to be you, as you always have been,” he said as he caressed the side of her face. “Being a mother is something you do, it’s not the only thing you are.”

“And you’re not scared about this?”

“Terrified.” He sighed. “My father never met me, and I didn’t even know he was my father until he was dead. My mother died when I was so young I barely have any memory of her - I don’t even remember what her real name was. I probably know less about being a parent than you do. You at least had two good parents you remember.”

“Oh, Gendry.” She stroked his head and kissed him. “We’ll figure out what to do, together.”

Gendry nodded. “When did you know?”

“Not long. I didn’t bleed during my last time. That happened often on the voyage when we’d go days without eating. But now it’s happened and I’ve been eating well since I got back. I guess I’m eating for someone else’s benefit as well as mine. Plus, you know how much I’ve been tired, sleeping more.”

“Yes.”

“One of Sansa’s maesters and her midwife examined me, and they confirmed it. I guess you’re the fourth person who knows, after them and Sansa.”

“When?”

She beamed at him. “Not for a while, maybe eight, seven months at the earliest. If you ask me, _ I _think it happened in the Kingswood.” Gendry’s mind replayed that memory in the forest, remembering how she looked in her crown of ferns.

Arya reached down and put his hand just above her pubic bone, where he felt an unfamiliar firmness. With a touch of sadness to her eyes, she said, “If it’s a boy, I want to name him Eddard.” 

“Of course.” They kissed again, and she began to stroke his back. 

Gendry came up for air. “Wait, will you be all right for… _ this_?”

Arya reared back and cackled at that. “You’re not going to squish him or anything,” she replied. “I believe I am quite the sturdy fortress to protect our baby. It might get interesting as I get bigger, though.”

“You’ll be beautiful, then as now,” he said. 

“You’ll see how sturdy I am yet.” They continued to kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted there to be plenty of humor in this chapter along with the love and romance. Kids, you tend to stay in love with someone if you laugh together.


	20. Return of the White Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The White Wolf is reunited with the Pack at Winterfell.

20.

It was an afternoon, almost a fortnight after Arya and Bran’s arrival at Winterfell. Sansa approached Arya in the courtyard, where Arya was practicing her archery. “Morning,” Sansa said.

“Need to keep up the skills,” Arya explained. “Also, I think it helps, staying active. It tends to settle my stomach, at least.”

“That’s a good thing, then.”

They heard a familiar squeaking and tumbling wheels behind them. Sansa and Arya turned to see Bran behind them, brought out to the courtyard by Ser Podrick. “I believe our brother has finally made his appearance.”

Ser Joren hustled next to his queen’s side. “It appears we have riders approaching the north gate,” he said.

Sansa nodded. “I think we know who it is. Have the guards let them in.”

…

The King of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros, the Queen of the North, The Lord and Lady of the Stormlands, and their various Kings and Queensguards awaited the arrival of the visitors from further north.

Finally, five men and one woman rode into the courtyard before the assembled nobles. They were led by a man in a wolf’s pelt cloak. 

At first, the man appeared to be a stranger. But, as he dismounted with ease from his horse, recognition filled the eyes of those who grew up as his siblings. His dark hair and beard were longer than when he left for the wall, but he had Longclaw by his side and the familiar dark eyes widened as he beheld his family once again. 

A red-haired, green-eyed woman came forward and stood by his side. She was roughly Sansa’s age, more handsome than pretty and as tall as Jon, with a bow across her back and two daggers at her waist.

“Queen Sansa of the North, thank you for your welcome,” the woman said in a harsh Northern accent. “Your brother, Jon Snow, The White Wolf, The King Beyond the Wall and of the Freefolk, has returned.”

With a bemused grin and an upturned eyebrow, Jon put an arm around the woman’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head before walking toward his family. “It’s great to see all of you.” He turned to Arya. “I thought I remembered you saying something about you not coming back to the Nor...”

He was unable to complete his sentence as Arya leapt into his arms with such force that he had to brace himself. “I missed you,” she said.

“I missed you too.”

After many moments, she finally broke off the embrace. “Where’s Ghost?” she asked.

He laughed at that. “At home with Tormund and the others. Ghost has a mate who’s about to have some pups. He didn’t feel like traveling.” Arya smiled at that.

Jon then went forward to embrace Gendry as well. “Congratulations, _ brother,_” Jon said with a nod.

“How…”

“Bran filled me in. On a few things, at least,” Jon said.

As Jon and Sansa embraced, the queen turned her questioning gaze on the party accompanying her brother, and the young woman who had introduced him. 

Jon turned back to gesture at her. “I should introduce you to Alia,” he said. “She’s a niece to Tormund Giantsbane. And, she’s now my wife.”

His sisters and the other non-Freefolk looked between each other in disbelief, yet Bran was serene as ever. “Interesting,” he said to his brother. “I had thought you were still with my Nights Watch, but apparently not.” As a grin slowly spread across his face, he continued, “I likely should consider some form of punishment for that.”

Jon turned to Bran. “I leave myself at the mercy of Your Grace’s judgement.” 

He walked to Bran as he sat in his wheeled chair and began to kneel before his brother. Bran held up a hand to stop him. “I thought the Freefolk bent the knee for no one, Jon.” Instead, one king leaned over and enveloped the other in an embrace. 

As Jon stood up from embracing his brother, he surveyed the courtyard and the people who made up his old and new families. “I think we will have a lot to get caught up on,” Jon said, as he enveloped Sansa in a hug. 

“That’s bloody likely enough,” Sansa said, shaking her head at the strangeness of it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. We finally are reunited with Jon Snow, who's become a true member of the Freefolk.
> 
> 2\. I just had a feeling that Jon was going to fall in love again. He's too much of a romantic to totally give up on it. And Alia (or someone like her) would be the only type of woman who would be a proper mate for a man of the true North.
> 
> 3\. It took me two lines and I still think I dealt with Ghost better than the 2D's did.


	21. Council of the Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pack talks of its future and the future of Westeros.

21.

Later in the afternoon that Jon and his party arrived, Arya wandered into the godswood to find Alia seated at the pond near the weirwood tree. She saw the Freefolk woman dressing a half-dozen rabbit carcasses, one after the other. “You killed them yourself?” Arya said.

Alia looked up over her shoulder. “Just this morning, yes, with bow and arrow,” she replied. “It’s best to treat them now.”

“Even though you knew you were coming to Winterfell today?”

“Never assume you’re going to have food waiting for you somewhere,” Alia said. “That’s what I learned as a child.”

Arya nodded. “I learned how to use a bow since I was a child, but not to hunt.” She knelt down next to the Freefolk woman. “So, we are sisters now?”

Alia did a double-take toward Arya, then turned her attention to properly cleaning the rabbit skins. “I guess you could call us that. Jon talks about you all the time.”

Arya nodded, then pulled Needle out of its scabbard for a couple of inches. “He got me this sword when I was a child,” she said. “I always feel like I’ve had him with me since then, by his side.”

Alia stopped for a moment, sitting down on the ground to face her. “My uncle always bragged about him, how Jon was a good man. He is a good man, a kind man… but harsh, full of sadness. I was surprised at first that he wanted to spend time with me. Maybe I reminded him of his first woman, the Freefolk one. Anyway, she’s gone and I’m not.”

“Doesn’t that make you Queen Beyond the Wall, then?” Arya said with a laugh.

Alia pointed at the rabbit caracasses. “Do I look like a queen, doing this?” she laughed. 

“I never thought I was a lady, but now I’m the Lady of the Stormlands. An _ improper _ lady, but anyway. I guess you can be an improper queen, too.”

“Whatever you say.” Alia cam closer to Arya. “I think I could be friends with you, in time.”

“I would like that,” Arya said. “If Jon likes you, I should like you as well.”

Arya extended her hand to Alia. After a few moments, Alia accepted it, then returned to her work.

...

That evening, the Stark siblings and their spouses gathered for a night by the fire after dinner.

“Gendry, Joren and I wanted to thank you for your gift of those wooden blocks for Jon. You crafted them?” Sansa said.

Gendry nodded. “You can use them to build their own models of houses or cities. At least, that’s how I saw it.”

“He’s made loads of different blocks for… us, for later. I thought Jon might like some, too,” Arya said.

Sansa couldn’t recall her sister looking so self-conscious before, but she understood. Impending motherhood was new territory for Arya. “They were lovely, thank you.”

“Later?” Jon said.

Arya turned to her older brother. “Didn’t Bran tell you? Gendry and I am expecting a child.”

Jon turned to Bran, who said, “I didn’t want to tell everyone _ everything_. I know I’m Bran the Raven, but everyone shouldn’t expect me to be the messenger for everyone.”

Jon did a double-take at that. “Is my brother finally back in there?”

“He seems more in touch with himself now,” Arya explained.

Jon turned back to Arya in wondering disbelief. “Arya… Congratulations.”

“If it’s a boy, I’m naming him after Father,” Arya said.

Jon nodded. “You don’t mind if I use the same name for my first son? I want to honor him, too.”

“Of course.”

Jon turned to Sansa. “You named your firstborn after me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s good that some child will have the name Jon Stark. So, Sansa, what did you want to meet about?” Jon said, easing into his chair.

Sansa met the eyes of her sister, her brothers, and their partners. “It’s been wonderful having all of us here, back home,” she began. “But, things have changed, not just because we’re not children anymore. We now represent kingdoms and peoples that require our service and protection.”

“It’s very strange,” Bran said. “Father preferred to stay away from the great game, to stay in the North and raise his family, and I do not think that he would have ever predicted our fates. I know he would have been shocked to see me be king of Westeros.” He turned to Sansa. “I think you have become something that Father would have been surprised and yet proud of. He would be proud that you have kept the North free.” He turned to Arya. “I think it would have been the same with you. In some ways, you fulfilled Father’s dreams for you, but you did it in a way that was true to you. He would have been proud.”

Arya gazed downwards into her lap, not wanting to look Bran or any of her siblings in the eye at that moment. Her voice had a tiny quake in it as she spoke. “In some ways, it’s not fair. We’ve been apart for so long, and in time we’ll have to part again.”

“Families are always important, but they are always changing, as well,” Bran said. “Just a few years ago, we gathered here together with our parents, and Robb and Rickon were with us, as well. Now they are gone. When we gather together next, there will be new members of that family, different branches. When I was growing up, I remember my lessons about the different houses, their different slogans, histories, customs. Since I’ve become the Three Eyed Raven, though, I’ve come to see how much all people have in common, what binds them. In many ways, the whole of humanity is our family.”

There was silence for a few moments as they pondered Bran’s words. Finally, Sansa spoke up. “It is good that we keep this idea in mind. As much as the histories of Westeros speak of warfare, it is better for all of our people that we can live in harmony with each other and with the other peoples of Westeros. That’s what we need to talk about now.”

“The new order of things,” Jon said, grimacing. He turned to Sansa. “At first, I wondered if I was to be a deserter from the Night’s Watch or if you had let me go beyond the Wall on purpose.”

“Oh, Jon. I tried to get you that message, through Castle Black…”

“I did finally receive it, thanks to Bran.”

Sansa relaxed at that. “I hope you understand. You said over and over again that you didn’t want to rule Westeros. You barely even wanted to acknowledge your real na…”

“Aegon Targaryen was an idea, not a person,” Jon said. “My birth father and mother loved each other, and they welcomed me into the world. But my uncle’s best friend killed my father, and my mother died giving birth to me, so my uncle claimed me as his own.” He shook his head, eyes heavy-lidded. “It might have been different if they lived, but they didn’t. Jon Snow is who I am.”

“Lord Stark was your true father, your adoptive father,” Joren said.

“His _ adoptive _father?” Sansa was incredulous.

“Sansa, the man claimed him as his own son, and brought him to live under his own roof.” Joren scooted his chair closer to the queen and laid a hand on her shoulder. “What else would you call that?”

The realization that her husband was correct set in. She turned back to Jon. “Father truly loved you. He died protecting you, you know. If he’d given the Lannisters your birth name, not even Joffrey would have been foolish enough not to spare his life for that. He kept your secret to the end.”

“He did. He did.”

“Anyway,” Sansa continued as she took Joren’s hand in hers, “you talked about how you had peace during your time beyond the Wall, with the Freefolk. We thought that if you decided to go there, it wouldn’t be a fate you minded.”

Jon chuckled at that as he leaned back in his chair. “I have to admit I’m at home there, more than any place except for Winterfell. I also know you had to do something to get Grey Worm, the Dothraki, and the Salt Queen to back off, at least temporarily.

“And I should say this as well,” Jon continued. “I am not going to be claiming any right to rule Westeros based on who my birth father was. It’s better that the Targaryan dynasty ended with Dany. The nobles of Westeros have spoken, brother, and you are their leader. I have enough burdens looking after the Freefolk to take on anything else. I renounce that claim, now and always.”

“As I said,” Sansa continued, “we must now consider what faces us all in the future, and what must be done. Thanks to Arya and Bran, we have a better idea of the challenges that face us.”

“Yara Greyjoy has petitioned me for the independence of the Iron Islands,” Bran said. “Her reasoning is that their independence was promised to them for their service to the Dragon Queen, and we are obligated to fulfill this pledge.”

Unsure of himself, Gendry spoke up. “I hate to say this, but she has a point. One of the reasons I’m ruling in Storm’s End is because you backed my claim along with Daenerys,” he said, pointing to Bran. “It wouldn’t make sense, you fulfilling some of her decisions but not others.”

Bran nodded once to Gendry. “Good point.”

“And Yara’s doing her best to not have conflict with us,” Arya said. “The Ironborn are raiding west of the Iron Islands, in Midios and the Sunset Islands, maybe eastern Essos as well. They haven’t tried raiding anywhere in Westeros, have they?”

Jon shook his head. “We haven’t even seen them beyond the Wall.”

“It’s the clever move for her,” Sansa said. “She wants the Iron Islands to be independent, but they’ll have to keep raiding to make it work. However, they don’t want to anger the King of Westeros in the process, so they go further west for their conquests.”

“That also means that The North will have to develop ports on the Sunset Sea,” Sansa said. “There is Flint’s Finger, of course, but that needs to be developed more thoroughly. There could also be ports on either the Stony Shore or near the Glover’s holdfast of Deepwood Motte.”

“You’re still concerned about raiders, Sansa?” Jon said.

“Since we know now that there is something beyond the Sunset Sea, we should not turn our gaze away from it,” Sansa said. “The ports will be just as valuable as bases of trade.”

“Speaking of ports, Gendry,” Bran said, “we've already discussed your proposed Storm’s Shelter, but… Ser Davos has done well to rebuild the Imperial Fleet, and we are looking to improve the naval defenses of the realm. The island of Dragonstone has been vacant since the death of the Dragon Queen. We would task you to administer the island for the Six Kingdoms.”

Gendry couldn’t take in what Bran was saying. “Administer it? You mean, it would be under my rule? Why?”

“Ser Davos will need a harbor to store some of the King’s fleet, so you would need to help maintain those ships. The island could also serve as the temporary headquarters of your fleet as you work to create this… Storm’s Shelter. Your fleet would be obliged to help protect the King’s lands in the event of invasion, of course.”

Gendry was stunned. “Dragonstone. Why…”

“No one of the Targaryen name is able or willing to lay claim to the island,” Bran said, pointing to Jon. “The last ruler of Dragonstone before the Dragon Queen was Stannis Baratheon, who held his rule over Dragonstone by decree of his brother the king and by their family ties to House Baratheon. There are many that could be made ruler of Dragonstone, but you are the only remaining blood relation of Stannis. It is right that you should have this honor.”

“Arya _ and _ I should have this honor. We rule together,” Gendry said as he regained his assurance.

“Of course,” Bran said.

Gendry got up and then kneeled before Bran. “Then on those terms, I accept.”

“So, this is why we came together tonight?” Jon said. “We’re forging new alliances?”

“Yes,” Sansa said, nodding. “We’ll come to some agreements between each other, mainly you, Bran, and I. Arya, I suppose you and Gendry would be Bran’s henchmen in this instance.”

“You know I’d be happy to be your or Jon’s henchman any day,” Arya said, grinning. 

“Regardless,” Sansa said. “Regardless, we wanted to formalize certain things that have just happened or have gone unsaid. We will need to do this for those who eventually succeed us.” 

“Some of these agreements will be known to all, while others will be known just to us,” Bran said. “As both Sansa and Tyrion are fond of saying, secrets can be valuable things.

“First, Sansa and I will sign a formal alliance between the Six Kingdoms and the North,” Bran continued. “In exchange for allowing the Night’s Legion to operate along the Wall and in the Gift when not in the Six Kingdoms proper, the Six Kingdoms will provide resources for developing your proposed western ports and connecting them to Winterfell by roads. There will be a mutual protection pact, as well.”

Jon shook his head, puzzled. “Night’s Legion?”

“Tyrion has envisaged a… change in the role of the Night’s Watch, hence the change in name,” Bran said. “For now, at least, their main location will be at the Wall and The Gift, but they will also be located at King’s Landing and throughout Westeros. Criminals may still be sent to the Legion for life, but others may choose to serve for 10 or 20 years, then retire. Those soldiers may also have families, as well. The Kingdoms that provide more recruits will receive rewards from the crown. People from beyond Westeros may also choose to join the Legion, in exchange for citizenship and a pension.”

“You’re talking about building a standing army,” Arya said as the idea dawned on her. “Tyrion’s trying to build an army of the crown’s own, not dependent on the nobles’ and their bannermen.”

“When the nobles chose to make the kingship of Westeros non-hereditary, it changed more things than they realized,” Bran said. “The main reason that the Night’s Watch, the Kingsguard - at least mine,” he added with a mischievous glance at Ser Joren, “and the maesters were not to have families was so those closest to the king did not have additional advantages over other families in the succession. Now that the throne will not be directly inherited, such rules are, to be blunt, unnecessary.”

“In the case of your chief maester, my friend Sam, it seems that those rules have already been set aside,” Jon said with a laugh. “Technically, he’s violated the rules of two different orders.”

Bran acknowledged the point with a nod. “This will allow the Night’s Legion to be the core of the Crownlands army, an army beyond family ties, and an army to serve a non-hereditary crown.

“Gendry, you’ll be interested to know Tyrion and I agree with you regarding the Iron Islands,” Bran said. “The Six Kingdoms will agree to give them their independence in exchange for a defense alliance. They also lose their vote in selecting the next king of Westeros, as Sansa did.”

“You’d best get their guarantee not to raid Westeros or claim any part of it as their own, I’d advise,” Sansa said. 

“That will be an explicit part of any agreement we reach, I can assure you.”

“And you still get to claim you’re the ruler of the Six Kingdoms,” Joren said, chuckling.

Alia was puzzled. “Wait. When the North still was part of the Kingdoms, it was seven Kingdoms, then six. How can it still be six?”

“The old Seven Kingdoms were the North, the Vale, the Iron Islands, the Westerlands, the Reach, the Stormlands, and Dorne,” Jon said. 

“What about the Riverlands, where their mother was raised?” Alia said, pointing to Jon’s siblings. 

“It didn’t used to be considered its own kingdom,” Jon explained. “The Crownlands were taken from part of the Riverlands, and the Iron Islands controlled the rest of it for many years.”

“But they are their own kingdom now,” said Alia. 

“Yes,” said Jon. 

“But it’s still called the Six Kingdoms even though it has seven, and it was called the Seven Kingdoms back when there were actually eight.”

Any enthusiasm Jon might have had in explaining the matter to his new wife were long gone. “Yes.”

Alia sank into her suspiciously comfortable chair shaking her head. “It sounds like a load of southern horse dung,” she huffed. 

Arya cackled at that. “It seems you understand it all perfectly.”

“Also, if it is the Six Kingdoms, why do those kingdoms have just lords and ladies ruling them instead of kings and queens, and just one king above them all?” Alia said. 

“Tyrion has actually considered giving the title of King or Queen to whomever rules the individual kingdoms, although they would continue to pledge loyalty to me,” Bran said. 

The entire room stared at the young king in stunned silence. “King Bronn of the Reach?” Sansa said in disbelief.

Arya turned to her husband. “So, we would be an improper king and queen, then?”

“He’s also suggested that the non-Dornish rulers may take a new type of title - Duc or Ducess, to title those rulers,” Bran added.

Alia was surprised to see everyone turn to her as in anticipation of a question from her. She decided to oblige them. “Would you get a new title, then?”

“Tyrion is considering the idea of me being declared High King of Westeros,” Bran said, sheepishly. 

“More southern horseshit, then?” Alia said. 

After a pause, Bran smiled. “Perhaps.” The entire room cracked up at that. 

The young king turned to his older brother after the din died down. “I’ll be pardoning you for any crimes you have committed, either regicide or desertion,” Bran said. “We won’t make that public, but it will be in our records.”

“We also will sign an alliance treaty with you and the Freefolk,” Sansa said. “We will always be your allies, in peace as well as war.”

Jon nodded. “The Freefolk still have few enough men of fighting age, but the number of people grows.”

“Jon, I think you talked to me about some of the needs of your people,” Bran said. 

Jon nodded. “We’ve made our main camp at the Fist of the First Men. I plan to rebuild that, turn it into a fortress to help protect people in times of need. I want to try and rebuild Hardhome and some of the other smaller villages, give people places to live. We need to build roads and trails between the places. Anything you can provide to help with that would be appreciated.”

“The North will provide whatever you need as well, Jon,” Sansa said. 

“Thank you, Sister,” Jon said, then turning to his other sister. “You inspired me with _ your _ adventure. I’ve realized that I’ve committed to leading a land that I don’t know all about. We will be sending people north with map making tools, to explore all of the unseen portions of the Lands of Always Winter, and to fill in all of the unknown spaces on the maps. What we learn, we’ll pass on to you.”

Sansa stood up next to Bran, and then held out her hand as she looked toward Jon. Jon walked up to them as they joined hands and laid his own hand down on top of theirs. Arya, Gendry, Joren, and Alia came together, and they gathered in a circle, together, as family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the second longest in the story, but it feels a lot longer than that. This is where I spent a lot of time clearing up some of the plot holes, weirdness, and inconsistencies that plagued the 2D's last few episodes and turning it into something coherent. The Six Kingdoms bit reminded me of "Who's On First" a little.
> 
> Plus, you got a nice little scene with Arya and Jon's new wife. I think they'd wind up being pretty cool in-laws.
> 
> I also like how I wrote Bran here and in this story. After about four years of being the 3ER, I'd think he'd have enough control of his powers that even though he's not totally human, he's better able to access his humanity than before.


	22. Brother and Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Arya renew their bonds and reflect on their pasts.

22.

The following day, Jon Snow rose from his bed inside Winterfell before dawn. Laying a hand on Alia’s cheek but taking care not to wake her, he got dressed and left their chambers for the courtyard. 

_ Home, _ Jon thought as he walked toward the godswood. Memories both old and recent filled his head, and images of dead family and friends seemed to intermingle with the population of Winterfell. 

The sun had not peeked over the horizon as Jon stopped in front of the heartwood tree. He planted the torch he carried into the ground next to him and stared into the face of the tree for an age. 

“Tyrion told me you were one of the best brooders he’d ever known,” Arya said from behind him. 

Jon jumped and whirled around to see his sister grinning behind him not three feet away. “_Gods, _that shouldn’t be a shock anymore,” Jon said. 

“It shouldn’t be,” she agreed. “I’m small, quiet, and quick.”

He glanced at her from head to toe. “Well, small for a while, at least.”

Arya jokingly sneered as she came closer to him. “That’s a _ temporary _condition. You’re lucky you’re my brother, or that would be a smack on the head or worse.”

“Of course you would,” Jon said, smiling as he enveloped her in a hug. “Of course you would.”

She scowled but allowed the hug. “I need to work on my stern but loving look or this baby will walk all over me.”

“More likely the baby is going to be wrapped around your little finger. He or she will adore you, and their father.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Gendry sooner.”

That wasn’t something he expected. “Nothing to apologize for. That was your business.”

“He told me he didn’t tell you about knowing me on that trip beyond the Wall because he didn’t know if I was alive or dead.”

Jon nodded. “He’s a good man. You seem happy with him.”

She smiled at that. “He is. He was my friend first, then more. Alia is an intriguing woman, by the way.”

“In some ways she reminds me of you, her spirit. And of others, as well.”

Arya patted him on the shoulder, melancholic for a moment. “Good. You deserve some better luck with love.” She took a step back from him and stared at the ground. 

“What? Wait…” He glanced at the ground at his feet, then at the weirwood tree. “Here?”

Arya nodded. “If the Night King wasn’t standing right where you were, it was a step away.” She pointed just to the left of the tree. “Bran was seated right there.” She turned to face behind her and pointed a few feet away. “That was where Theon fell. I didn’t see it happen, but this whole area was littered with the dead.”

Jon sighed as he walked up to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “It must have been a fierce battle. I still miss him, despite everything that he did.”

“Of course. He grew up with us, even though he didn’t choose to be there. He died trying to protect Bran, protect us.”

“Too many of them did.” He turned to see Arya, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

Arya let out a deep breath as she wiped her eyes. “When Father was killed, every night I’d dream about getting back here, returning to see you and everyone else. And when it finally happened, I was barely here before I ran away to the other side of the world for three years. So stupid,” she concluded, shaking her head. “I said family was the most important thing to me and I ran away from it the first chance I got… I went along with sending you away…”

He turned Arya to face her. “That was not your fault. I agreed with it. In the end, I went to the right place for me.

"As for you… you were a _ child_, for the Gods’ sake,” he continued. “You had the most horrible thing happen to you and you spent years trying to get justice for Father, for Robb and Rickon, your mother. And when it was all over, you were left with all of that grief and didn’t know what to do.”

“I was hiding, hiding from everyone, everything.”

“It’s what you did to get on with things, because we weren’t around. It’s hard to just stop, especially when you’re still trying to deal with their deaths.”

She laughed at that. “And despite it all, Sansa still gave me a ship and crew for my madness.”

“She’s your sister. She’d do anything for you. I still feel guilty about not being there for you and everyone else.”

“You were there when it counted,” she said. “And even when you were on the Wall and beyond, you were protecting us. As you like to say, there’s nothing to forgive.

“But now we’re together again, but in a week or two, all of us will be apart again. It’s so sad,” she concluded. 

“Well, since we’re all on the same continent, I think we won’t have to wait three years between gatherings.”

“Heh. But, it won’t be the same…” Arya caught herself.

“What?”

She walked away to sit down on one of the roots of the weirwood tree. “Sit down,” she said, patting the root next to her. 

“Yes?” Jon said as he sat beside her. 

“I’m still getting used to Bran being a source of wisdom. But this whole idea, loss and families changing, that’s exactly what he was talking about last night, wasn’t he? Wolves die, wolves are born, the pack grows but it still remains. 

“And they start making their own little packs, part of the bigger one,” Jon said. “All of us - most of us, anyway - that’s what is happening.”

“You, too?”

He looked skyward for a time, then down to the pommel of Longclaw where he rested his hand. “The Lord Commander of the Watch gave me this, the sword of his house.”

“Jorah Mormont’s father.”

He nodded. “Later, I tried to give it back to Jorah, but he refused. Said he’d given up the right to wear it. He told me I should pass it down to my children.” Jon patted the pommel. “It would be a shame to disappoint him.”

“I’m still going to miss you, despite everything,” Arya said, encircling his waist with her arm. “Growing up… I loved all of you, even Sansa after a fashion. But you were the one who understood me.”

“We were the outsiders of the family, for different reasons, when we were children. Then King Robert came to ask our father for aid and we were thrown out into the world. Well, I walked out, more like, but… there’s times I regretted the king coming to Winterfell, over the years. There were other times when I realized we would have been in for dark days no matter what Father told the king.”

“Looking back now, I can’t hate him, what he asked of Father,” Arya said. “Father was the only friend he had. It wouldn’t have been like him to turn his friend down. So tragic.”

“It’s about as tragic as the best friend of my uncle killing my father because he was in love with my mother, who loved my father instead. And to save me, my mother had my uncle claim me as his bastard son, becoming my father more than my real one could be,” Jon said, sighing as he tried to absorb it for the hundredth time.

Arya rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. “Sheer bloody madness.”

“It’s all right, though. Because, when I think about everything that happened to our parents in the past? I compare all that to our fates and how lucky I am, how lucky you are. We both had goals when we left here for the first time, and the amazing thing is we got what we both wanted.

“You - you wanted to protect our family, to be a warrior,” Jon continued. “And when it was endangered, you did everything you could to protect it, to find justice, even though you were too young. And then you saved us, right here in this godswood. You’re protecting us even now. You became the woman you wanted to be. And you’ll protect your own family as well. Even though I’m not sure that was in the plans…”

“I talked about not wanting to be a lady like Sansa or Mother was. I don’t remember if I ever once said I never wanted children. Sansa was right, the women I admired were mothers _and_ fighters. I guess I didn’t do anything _ not _ to have children, anyway. Anyway, what was your goal?”

He stared at the surface of the lake for a while. “My birth, who my father was… growing up, those were the most important facts of my life,” he finally said. “The fact that Eddard Stark was my father meant I lived in the biggest castle in the North rather than some farm in the Lonely Hills or some alleyway in White Harbor. The fact Catelyn Stark wasn’t my mother meant I had to be treated as a second-class member of the family. When I was a child… that was hard.

“Now, there’s no one to blame,” he continued. “If Father didn’t do what he did, I’d be dead and maybe him, too. How could I blame Lady Stark for seeing me as evidence of her husband’s betrayal even though it never happened?”

“I still felt sorry for you… I know we all did.”

“I know.”

“And then _ you _ went away, to the Night’s Watch.”

Jon nodded. “At first, I thought I was seeking glory, or maybe it was the best way of staying out of your mother’s way. But now I realize, deep down, what I was really seeking. I was tired of being defined by who I was. I wanted to be someone else, my own person. I wanted to be of value because of what I did, not what my name was.”

Arya nodded. “I can understand that.”

“It didn’t have to be like this. I had the opportunity to take another name two times in my life,” Jon said. “Stannis Baratheon promised to legitimize me as Jon Stark if I supported his claim to the throne. I turned him down to stay with the Night’s Watch. Then, when I found out who my birth parents were, I had the chance to claim the name Aegon Targaryen. But I didn’t.”

Arya put her hands over Jon’s crossed forearms. “You didn’t want to betray vows in both cases - the Night’s Watch in the first case and your vow to Danerys in the second case. I was frustrated with the last case, but I understand it now. Not wanting to break your oath is something Father likely would do..”

“That was a part of it, I admit,” he said, laying his hand on hers. “But there was more to it than that. I grew up thinking it was unfair that people with certain names had more privileges than me or others, just because of that name. When they offered me the world by changing my name… it still didn’t seem right. Everything I ever did as Jon Snow, I felt like I _ earned _it. I knew what I achieved was what I made of the world. And it was more precious to me because of it.”

“I don’t care what name you had at birth,” Arya said. “I don’t care who your birth father and mother were. You will always be my brother now until my last day because you _ were _ my brother; you acted like it in every way that mattered.”

“I know.” He looked northward, over the castle walls. “When I went beyond the Wall for the first time, when I walked through those forests and the lands… that was the first time I truly felt _ free. _ You’d never imagine how it felt later, after Tormund and I, Ghost, and the rest of the Freefolk crossed the Wall north. It felt like… freedom. Even the scent of the air felt free.”

“It’s your home, now,” she said. “Where you belong. I’m glad for that, at least. Even if we don’t live in the same place, at least.”

“Yes.”

Arya looked up at him. “In the time that we have left together, I need your help.”

“Of course,” Jon said. “What do you need?”

“Bran and his Small Council are convinced that I am the one that they want leading the armies of Westeros in the event of an invasion,” she said. “You, of course, are a more experienced leader, but you will be busy looking after your own people. I was hoping that you could teach me something about how you lead people.”

Jon laughed at that. “Some would say I’m a poor general.”

“But you’ve led people, you’ve inspired people. That’s not nothing. I’ve had the chance to lead people… but I need to learn more about it. I want you to teach me.”

Jon nodded. “Anything I can do to guide you, I will. Robb was the real military genius in the family. I know that the maesters of Oldtown have already written a history of The War of the Five Kings. You might learn something from that.”

“I will read that,” Arya said, “but I want to learn from you too.”

There was a sigh from Jon as he nodded to his sister. “Of course,” he said. 

“And, I would be interested in training with you, as well.”

“What?”

She looked around and made sure both Needle and the Catspaw were in their proper places. “I always wondered if we would be a match in a fight,” Arya said. “We might as well find out.” She started to pace around in a circle around her brother.

Jon stared at her in disbelief. “You’re looking to practice fighting with me?”

“Why not?”

Jon could barely contain his exasperation. “Because you’re my sister, and because you have a _ baby _ inside of you…”

“Are you planning on stabbing me in the gut?” Arya said, laughing.

He let out another sigh. “No, no.”

“Then what are we talking about?” Arya said, unsheathing both Needle and Catspaw.

Jon looked at the short sword in her hand. “I never thought you’d have to use it so much.”

“I’m glad I did,” Arya said. “As long as I had it, I always had you with me.”

“You always will have me with you, even without that sword,” Jon said as he pulled Longclaw free of its scabbard. “The same goes for Father and your mother, and Robb and Rickon, too.”

“I know,” she said, grinning. “So, are we going to fight or not?”

“Whatever my sister demands,” Jon said, swinging Longclaw into an arc. He thought he was going to catch her sister by surprise, but she was already away from her brother’s blow and sneaking toward her own attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I was going to have to have a chapter for Jon and Arya to talk, and that it was going to be in the godswood. Enough said.


	23. The Pack Survives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see how House Stark will both survive and grow.

23.

From_ The Pack Survived: A History of House Stark, _by Maester William Flint:

...With these agreements both public and secret, the stability of all the Kingdoms of Westeros were secure for years to come - stability that would be needed to meet the difficulties of The First Dragon and Dothraki Invasion of 312 AC and the Second Dragon Invasion of 330 AC…

…Although the children of Eddard Stark would reunite periodically over the years, Bran’s prediction that they would soon create their own families also became a reality.

Jon Stark would eventually become the heir to his mother Sansa, who was sparking an economic renaissance in the North by developing its timber, fur, fishing, and mining industries. Jon would marry a Manderlay girl and have three sons and three daughters, ensuring the continuation of the Stark line.

Jon’s younger brother would become the acclaimed warrior in their family, fearless yet thoughtful, and cunning in how he led men. His bravery would be reminiscent of his namesake, the mighty Ironborn who gave his life in defense of his adopted home and family. The tales of Theon Stark’s exploits would grow far and wide.

Sansa had two daughters, the oldest of which, Caitlyn Stark, would favor her father’s family. She would eventually marry into a noble Dornish house, as she shared her namesake’s preference for warmer weather.

Arya, to her mild surprise, would have four children of her own. Despite her duties as first general of her husband’s bannermen and, later on, Master of War for her younger brother, she was a loving and patient mother to all of her children, who respected and admired her in turn. She was also helped in this by Gendry, who proved to be an unusually attentive and conscientious father. Gendry’s advisers were often flummoxed by the children interrupting council business for an audience with him, but he never failed to attend to whatever needs they had.

The first child, a boy, was inevitably named Eddard Baratheon. He would become a true warrior, the kind of honorable man that his maternal grandfather had been, while learning his mother’s pragmatism and martial ways. 

Their second son was Robb Baratheon, named for his dead grandfather and uncle alike. He would wield a hammer both in battle, occasionally, and even more as a smith like his father. Robb would later be a chief architect to the Storm Town which would grow next to Storm’s End and Storm’s Shelter.

Her last two children were girls. The oldest of them, the twin of Robb, was small and dark like Arya, but despite Gendry’s suggestion to name her after herself, she decided on the name Nymeria. She worshiped her mother and sought to learn from her everything she could about the fighting arts.

The youngest children of both Sansa and Arya would prove the prediction of the northern queen correct. Arya’s youngest child, named after her aunt, was small and dark like her sister and mother, but she had a sophisticated mind and an interest in the realm of politics. Sansa’s youngest child was tall and red-haired like her mother, but with the strength and toughness of her father. Sansa decided to name her daughter after the woman who had saved her life and now stood guard over her brother.

When the two girls turned 10 years old, their mothers arranged for an extended visit. Brienne Stark came to stay at Storm’s End and Sansa Baratheon would come to Winterfell.

The change of scenery benefited both girls. Sansa admired and loved her mother, but was excited to learn the art of ruling from her aunt. Stays with Sansa would also be supplemented by time at the court of her uncle, The High King of Westeros, and Sansa Baratheon would become a prime candidate to become the next Ducess of one of the Six Kingdoms.

Brienne cherished and loved her mother, but her aunt Arya was her hero, and she was endlessly fascinated with her lessons on the art of war. In addition, Bri, as her family called her, would almost immediately make a lifelong friend and companion in her cousin, known as Ny to her family. It would be a partnership that would eventually lead to the two women planning and leading The Great Southern Expedition, which would complete the exploration of Ulthos and Sorythos and expanding the Known World.

As for Jon Snow, the man known as the White Wolf or the Queenslayer, his story falls somewhere between that of history and legend. Tales of his exploits, both during the Baratheon/Lannister dynasty, the War of the Five Kings and the Song of Ice and Fire, seemed to fit more into the tales of the Age of Heroes than 300 years after Aegon’s Conquest. 

There were those who claimed he had died and been reborn more than once, or was it just the one time? Some said he would have 12 different children with three different wives, although historians can only attest to the existence of two children, Lyanna and Eddard Snow, who would periodically accompany their parents to visit their aunts, uncle, and cousins. There was a persistent rumor that he was a bastard or even trueborn Targaryan. However, he never claimed to be one publicly, and there was no known evidence of this. 

It was a truly great irony of House Stark that they would journey from being an ancient but humble northern house, to a renegade, nearly extinct house, and then a house that dominated Westeros, all in a single generation. While the children of Eddard Stark were extraordinary in their own ways, together they proved to be an unstoppable force. As their father would often tell them as children, “the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, this story reaches its end, even though I leave enough loose ends here for at least a half dozen other tales. However, I'm of the belief that you need to know when to start a particular story, and when to end it. You need to know when to arrive and when to depart, or, as the late great James Brown said, "Kill them and leave."
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story; feel free to talk to me in the comments. I'll get back to you sooner or later.


End file.
